A New Home
by carebear88
Summary: AU. Luke and Noah have moved to the suburbs of California and await the challenges facing them. Slash Noah/Luke
1. The Next Step

**A/N: Hey, guys! I'm taking a break from writing Lost and The Office and focusing on a new obsession 'As the World Turns,' specifically the storyline of Noah and Luke. It's my first time writing them, and I hope you guys like it!**

**Summary:** AU. Luke and Noah have moved to the suburbs of California and await the challenges facing them.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

* * *

Luke threw the covers off of his body just as a flash of lightning ripped through the sky outside his bedroom window. His boyfriend, Noah, stirred beside him and turned over to pull the sheets Luke had ripped away. Luke swung his feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, his head pounding to the beat of the rain on the window. 

"Hey," Noah said. Luke turned as his boyfriend raised his head from his pillow. "What's wrong?"

Luke smiled, admiring the sight of his groggy boyfriend and felt a twinge of guilt that he had woke him. He reached over and ran a hand through Noah's messy hair, stopping to rub his thumb under his chin.

"Nothing," Luke said.

Noah sat up, pushing the sheets off of his bare chest. "Is it the rain?" He leaned in with a coy smile on his face and aimed his lips for Luke's throat. "Need me to read you a bedtime story?"

Luke chuckled and pulled away just as Noah's lips brushed his jaw line. "Thanks, but I'm alright." He smiled again when he saw a concerned look come over Noah's face. "I think I'll just write for a while."

Noah nodded." Alright," he said, "I'll be here if you need me."

Luke leaned in and kissed his cheek, warm and lingering just as he knew Noah liked it. "I know you will."

0000000

Luke turned the desk lamp on in the study and pulled a hoodie over his head. He sat and rolled the chair towards his laptop, flipping it open and shuddering slightly as the thunder grumbled outside like an old man clearing his throat. Luke opened a Word document and began typing nothing in particular, listening to the rain more than the voice inside his head. He drifted into a kind of meditation as his fingers pecked at the keyboard, thinking back to a conversation he and his mother had just weeks ago before he moved with Noah.

"I thought you were happy?" his mother had asked in the doorway of his room.

"I am," Luke had said as he packed boxes on the floor. "I'm very happy. Things couldn't be better. It's just . . ."

"What? Are things moving too fast?"

"No," Luke had exclaimed, "No, it's that they're moving along so _well_ that scares me."

He had explained to his mother the fear he felt of moving out to California with Noah, but not just any place in that Golden State—they were moving to the_suburbs_.

"I mean, it's the next step, I know that," Luke had said. "You graduate college, you get your dream job—which, for Noah, is everything he ever wanted—I know all of that stuff."

"So what's the problem?" his mother had asked, kneeling next to him on the floor.

Luke had sighed, exasperated. "It's just that, we're moving to the suburbs, ya know? White picket fences, the whole nine yards. I mean, the people there will be drinking lemonade on the porch, watching their two-point-five kids run around on the front lawn."

Luke remembered how his mother had laughed, how comforting the sound in her throat was when she threw her head back and touched his arm.

"It's true," Luke had said with a smile. "And I'm thrilled that Noah got his dream job, I really am. I'm just worried that that type of environment—you know, traditional, conservative, bake sales and happily married couples . . . I'm just worried they won't accept us."

Luke paused, letting his fingers hover over the keyboard and smiled at the memory of his mother stroking his hair and tenderly kissing his forehead.

"I know you're afraid," she had said, in a voice only a mother could have, "and I know what you're up against. But things are different now. People are much more accepting, and California is a pretty progressive state." She kissed his forehead again and Luke had never felt more comforted in his life. "You're going to be great, sweetie. You'll see."

Luke sat back and scanned his eyes over the words he had written on his Word document. He smiled to himself and shook his head, wondering if maybe he was overreacting by still being so jittery in their new house. He remembered the stares they had gotten from the neighbors when they first moved in just a few weeks before, but that could have been for any number of reasons. Suburbanites were a curious folk, anyway, he had heard—naturally snoopy especially when new neighbors arrived. And yet . . .

And yet, it was almost three weeks since they moved in and no one had come by to properly welcome them to the neighborhood, or even to bid them a simple hello. Luke could feel their stares as he would kiss Noah goodbye before his boyfriend headed off to work, could practically see their neighbors in their own posh houses eyeing them from their windows and whispering questions they dare not ask in public.

"Is it a bestseller?"

Luke jumped at the sudden voice and turned his swivel chair to see Noah standing in the doorway to the study. He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uh, we'll see."

Noah stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of Luke's desk. "Guess we'll never get used to these California storms," he said.

"Yeah," Luke said. He paused and closed his laptop. "You should get back to bed, you have an early start."

Noah placed his hand on Luke's and met his gaze. "Everything alright?"

Luke sat back in his chair and pursed his lips, peering into Noah's gaze to match the intensity. "Are you happy?" he asked.

Noah smiled. "Yeah, of course I am. Aren't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, I totally am. I couldn't be happier. I just . . ." Luke paused. "I'm worried that we'll never adjust, you know? I'm worried the other people here will—"

"Will come after us with torches and pitchforks because we're gay?"

Luke laughed and shook his head. "You know what I mean."

Noah got off the desk and kneeled before Luke, holding his hand. "I know it's different. But we have a new life now, a fresh start. It'll just take some time to adjust, right?"

Luke nodded. "Right."

"And . . . in the meantime, I guess we'll just have to make the best impression possible and see how it goes." He stopped, searching Luke's eyes for any sign of reassurance and kissed his hand. "And if things go to hell, we still have each other."

Luke smiled, a genuine teeth-barer that lit up his boyfriend's eyes. "We still have each other."

Noah kissed his hand again and stood, walking towards the door to the hallway. "Hungry? I'll make some eggs."

Luke watched him as he moved away. "You should go back to bed—"

"Hey, it's early enough. Besides, I'm more hungry than tired right now, and all that writing must have given you an empty stomach."

Luke stood and followed Noah into the kitchen. "It doesn't bother you that I stay at home all day, writing a book that will probably never get published while you go out and bring home the bacon, does it?"

"Just as long as you're not loafing around, eating bon-bons and watching daytime soaps," Noah said, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge. "And you _will_ be published," he added, placing the eggs on the island counter.

Luke shrugged. "Then I guess I better stop eating bon-bons if I wanna look good on the jacket cover of my bestseller." He winked at his boyfriend and Noah threw a dishtowel at him.

A sudden rip of lightning flashed through the sky, followed by a crack of thunder loud enough to rattle the windows. The lights in the kitchen flickered out, leaving the two men enveloped in darkness and purple flashes from the angry lightning outside.

"I guess eggs are out of the question," Noah said.

"Well," Luke said, clearing his throat and reaching in the cupboard. "I guess this will have to do." He pulled out a box of Lucky Charms and held it next to his face, smiling as widely as the cartoon on the cover.

By the time the two sat down at the breakfast nook, spoons submerged in their bowls and heads bent over their meal, the storm was beginning to die down but the lights remained off.

"Is it me," Luke said, chomping on a spoonful of cereal, "but are these marshmallows brighter in the dark?"

Noah peered over at Luke's bowl and shook his head, taking a bite of his own spoonful. "It's just you."

**To be continued.**


	2. Neighbors

That day, as Noah headed off to the movie studio where he worked, Luke began raking leaves and filling the trash with small branches that had been blown from the trees from the storm that night. He watched as children climbed aboard the school bus, their parents waving goodbye and kissing each other as they left for work. He looked their way, hoping to catch the eye of a neighbor pulling out of the garage to give them a quick nod and a smile to let them know he was an okay guy. When no one seemed to acknowledge him, Luke trudged his garbage bag full of leaves to the backyard and began raking under the giant oak by the fence.

He filled the bag to the top with his newly-acquired pile and stopped when he heard giggling over the fence. He looked out at the lawn opposite of his, the backyard of their neighbor from behind the house. Luke peered over the white picket fence and could see two little girls sitting on a trampoline in their pajamas, blankets wrapped around them and their voices low in whispers. They caught him looking and giggled some more, putting their hands over their red, spotted faces.

"Hello," the oldest girl called out.

Luke stopped raking and hesitated, looking around to see if anyone else was watching. "Hello," he said.

The eldest child hopped off the trampoline and walked over to the fence, her pink blanket trailing behind her in the wet grass. "What's your name?" she asked, leaning on her side of the fence.

"Luke," he said, smiling.

"My name's Sarah," the little girl said. She coughed into her hand and motioned towards the younger child still lounging on the trampoline. "That's my sister, Mary. She's younger than me."

Luke laughed and continued to rake. "Is that so? How old are you?"

"I'll be ten in a month. Mary's six."

"And what are you two doing home from school?"

Sarah coughed again, wiping her matted brown hair from her face. "We both have chickenpox. Mom said we could sit outside for a little bit while she washed our sheets."

Luke smiled again, holding the rake close to his face as though he were leaning on it like a best friend. "Well, I'm sorry, Miss Sarah, but I think you two are faking it." He continued raking, stealing a glance at Sarah as her mouth shot open.

"Nuh-uh, see!" She pointed to her red, pocked face. "See the bumps? And they're so itchy, look!" She pulled the sleeve of her pajamas up and scratched at her arm.

"Hey, hey, don't do that—"

"Sarah," a littler voice called out. Mary climbed off the trampoline and walked over to her sister, scratching at her legs. "I'm all itchy," the child said.

"You know what I did when I had the chickenpox?" Luke asked.

The two girls perked up and stopped scratching long enough to listen to him. Luke set the rake on the ground and stepped closer to the girls, the fence separating them.

"When I had chickenpox," he continues, "I'd stick my tongue out and hold my ears to keep from scratching."

Sarah laughed. "That's silly," she said.

"No, it's true!" Luke said. "Here, try it—" He held his earlobes as if adjusting an invisible stud and stuck his tongue out, crossing his eyes to make a funny face.

The little girls howled with laughter and held their ears, trying to imitate the face Luke was making.

"Girls, what are you doing?"

Luke three his hands down from his ears when he heard the woman's voice. He followed her stern call to the back porch of the girls' house and saw who must have been their mother walking through the backyard to meet them. Luke tensed and took a step back, expecting the mother to scold her two daughters for talking to a man—a _gay_ man, while they were alone in the backyard. The blonde woman in a blouse and sweater vest put her hands on her two daughter's shoulders and looked at Luke.

"I'm sorry, were they bothering you?" she asked.

Luke blinked. "No, uh . . . I'm sorry, they came over to say hi—"

"Girls, I told you to stay on the patio," the woman said, leaning in between the two children.

"Sarah said we could go on the tramp'lene," Mary said, looking up at her mother.

"What? It rained last night, everything's all wet!"

"We wiped it off with our blankies," Sarah said, holding up her tattered pink blanket.

The woman groaned and stood straight. Luke offered her an amused grin and she rolled her eyes, returning the smile. "Hi, I'm Celeste, their mother." She held out a hand over the fence and Luke grasped it.

"I'm Luke Snyder," he said.

"Right," Celeste said, nodding, "you just moved in, didn't you?"

"Just a few weeks ago, yeah." Luke cleared his throat and glanced at the girls standing before their mother's legs. "With my boyfriend," he added.

Celeste grinned widely and nodded her head, pointing to Luke as though she had just figured something out. "Yeah, yeah, I had a feeling . . . I mean, I guess it was obvious and everything, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions—"

"No, don't worry about it," he smiled. "It's not like we were going to send out a community letter or anything, advertising it."

Celeste laughed and looked down at her youngest as Mary tugged on her sleeve.

"Mommy, can we go inside and watch cartoons?" she asked.

Celeste nodded her head towards the house. "Sure, go ahead. But take your blankets to the laundry room, I don't want you tracking mud." She watched her children go into the house and turned back to Luke. "So . . ." she said, putting her hands in her pockets.

"So, what does your husband do?" Luke asked.

Celeste raised her eyebrows. "Well, he drinks, he cheats, and he steals."

Luke lowered his eyes.

"We're divorced," Celeste said. "And it wasn't too pretty."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She waved her hand as if his comment were an annoying bug. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Here I am, airing my dirty laundry in public. You must think I'm such a freak."

Luke shrugged. "Naw, it's okay. We all have a history."

Celeste smiled and jutted her thumb over her shoulder to the house. "Anyway, I better go give the girl's their medicine—"

"Right, I have raking to do," Luke said.

"If you hear screaming," Celeste said, backing away towards the house, "don't be alarmed. Mary's a fighter when it comes to the pink stuff."

Luke laughed and waved. "See you around."

0000000

"I'm home!"

Luke looked up from the page he was typing on his laptop and turned to the office door as Noah called out to him from the hallway. His boyfriend came into the room, bouncing and more excited than Luke had ever seen him. His buzz was contagious and soon Luke found himself standing to greet Noah with a large smile on his face.

"Hey, what's got you in such a good mood?"

Noah kissed him full on the mouth, his intensity causing Luke to lean back and raise his eyebrows.

"Wow," he said after his boyfriend pulled away, "I hope we won the lottery."

"Better than that!" Noah exclaimed, moving fluidly to the next room. Luke followed him into the kitchen. "I mean, I thought we hit the big time when IFC picked up the script," Noah said, taking a bottle of water from the fridge. "But _this_! This is huge!"

Luke held him by his shoulders and turned him around. "What is it?"

Noah took a drink of water and set the bottle on the counter, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Okay," he began, putting his hands out in front of him. "So Tony, the guy who's supposed to be the lead, told me today that he had to drop out of the project due to conflicting schedules."

"Isn't that a bad thing?"

"Not until you hear this," Noah said, putting his hand on Luke' shoulder. "So do you remember Sam Donahue from films class? Turns out, he's a casting director in L.A., so I call him up today to ask for a favor, and who does he get to play the lead?"

Luke shrugged. "Mel Gibson?"

Noah laughed. "Andrew Sullivan!"

Luke shook his head and grinned, his excitement at about the level of watching grass grow.

"Let me put it into perspective," Noah said, taking another sip of water from his bottle. "Andrew Sullivan is to indie films what Brad Pitt is to mainstream Hollywood."

Luke slapped Noah's arm and pulled him in for a hug. "That's fantastic!" he said, kissing his boyfriend's neck.

"I know, I can't believe it!" Noah said, pulling away with a thousand-watt smile. "I never expected anything like this to happen!"

Luke laughed. "Well, you deserve it. Just promise me that when you make it to Sundance, I can be your arm candy."

"Always," Noah said, leaning in and kissing Luke gently on the lips.

"So what should we do to celebrate?" Luke asked.

Noah rolled his eyes to the ceiling, pretending to think hard. "Well, I could make us dinner tonight and then we could have dessert . . . or, we could skip dinner altogether and go straight for dessert."

Luke smiled, pulling Noah closer in an embrace. "Hmm, I think we could stand to skip dinner tonight."

Noah faked a pout through his wide grin. "You never let me cook."

"Uh, that's because I want to _live_."

Noah laughed. "Oh, you're dead."

Luke gave his boyfriend a peck on the mouth and jumped away from his arms, running down the hallway as Noah sprinted after him.

"Come back here, I'm not through with you yet!" He chased Luke into the bedroom where their walls were still unpainted and a few boxes from the move still lay unpacked.

Luke jumped up on the unmade bed, laughing, and motioned towards Noah. "Easy, tiger."

Noah held his hand out. "Truce?" he said.

Luke put his hand in his and let Noah help him off the bed. He threw his arms around Noah's neck and leaned in close enough for their noses to touch.

"I love you," he said.

Noah smiled and rubbed his nose against Luke's. "I love you, too."

They kissed, embracing one another and swaying to the beat of a song without words—the two of them hovering in nothing but each other's arms while the world spun around them at the speed of light.

**To be continued.**


	3. Business

**A/N: The story about the picture in the high school yearbook is based on an actual news article from 2007.**

* * *

That night, Luke and Noah lay in bed together, the sheets drawn over their naked waists and Luke's head resting on Noah's bare chest. The Tuesday paper Noah had brought home was sprawled across the bed, the heavy smell of their lovemaking still lingering in the air. Luke picked up the OpEd section and Noah thumbed through Arts and Leisure while stroking his boyfriend's arm.

"Jeez, you'd think they'd actually have more _news_ in the paper," Luke said, scanning the page he was reading.

"Maybe it's a slow news day." Noah said. He kissed Luke's hair and flipped the page to the movie reviews.

"In California? I don't believe it."

Noah chuckled and traced his initials on the back of Luke's shoulder. "Find anything interesting in the back?" he asked. He peered down at his boyfriend and leaned forward when he saw Luke crease his eyebrows.

"Yeah . . . real interesting," Luke said, his eyes darting across the article he was reading.

"What is it?"

Luke sat up and continued to read, his mouth hanging slightly open. "Can you believe this?" he asked. "Listen to this opinion piece, it's by a guy named George Samson—'Kiss and Tell: Johnson High School's Answer to Morality.'" Luke looked at his boyfriend and Noah sat up, setting his section of the paper down on the bed.

"'Last month,'" Luke read, "'while flipping through my son's yearbook, I was shocked to see an entire page dedicated to couples. Not because this type of display particularly surprised even an old conservative like me, but because the editor's of the yearbook allowed the forefront picture to pass through a required degree of censorship—a picture depicting a homosexual couple kissing.'"

Luke stopped reading a shook his head. He looked at Noah and his boyfriend had a sort of amused look on his face, as though the author of the opinion piece were a curmudgeonly old man waving a cane and spouting ideas.

"'The picture in question,'" Luke read on, "'was prominently featured as the center photo of the section. As a fairly traditional man, I expected this type of display to be limited to late-night cable TV and movie channels after ten o'clock, not front and center in my child's yearbook where he'll look back on years to come to find this sort of thing—'"

Luke set the paper down and threw his hands up. "Can you believe that?"

Noah rolled his eyes. "Sounded like he didn't have much of a problem with the heterosexual couples kissing."

"I can't believe this trash even got published!" Luke cried. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on a pair of briefs and sweatpants. "I maybe could have seen this sort of thing happening back home, but not here."

Noah smiled. "California's not exactly a Wonderland, Luke." he said. "Prejudice is everywhere."

"I know, but . . ." Luke pulled a t-shirt over his head and sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, fuming. "It just makes me so _mad_!"

Noah leaned across the bed and touched Luke's shoulder. "There's no sense in letting it upset you—"

"And why not?" Luke asked, turning around. "Unless somebody says something, these types of comments and criticisms will only fuel the fire."

Noah raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Then why don't _you_ say something?"

"Me? What could I do?"

Noah moved over to Luke's side and sat next to him on the edge of the bed. "I don't know—write a letter, send a complaint. Even better, counter his argument. All those tolerance sessions at the GLBT in school should be put to good use, right?"

Luke smiled and rubbed Noah's back. "I think you're on to something there," he said, kissing his boyfriend on the lips.

"Hmm. Now why are you in such a hurry to get your clothes on?" Noah asked, putting his hand under Luke's shirt and inching his fingers up his back.

"I'm famished," Luke said with a laugh, jerking as Noah's light touch tickled his skin. "It's nearly eight-thirty and we haven't eaten yet."

"Takeout?" Noah suggested.

"You're just full of good ideas tonight," Luke said.

0000000

That Thursday, Noah sat in his director's chair (the thrill of having an actual director's chair still rippling through his heart) and watched the set before him as crew members and technicians scurried about the place like ants. His eyes drooped slightly, head bending forward as though gravity were too much for him to handle this morning. Everything was too loud, too fast, and that cup of coffee before he walked out the door had been far too small.

"Here." A woman wearing a headset and plain black clothes dangled a Styrofoam cup of rich, aromatic coffee in front of his face, and Noah wondered for a split second if people could hear his thoughts. He took the drink and smiled up at his young assistant.

"Thanks, Paula," he said, popping the lid off his dark roast.

"Sure," she said. She paused, holding the clipboard behind her back and staring down at Noah with a sly grin on her pretty face. "You look exhausted."

Noah scoffed and blew on his drink. "I'm so tired, I've got one foot in the grave."

"Hangover?" Paula asked.

Noah laughed and looked up at her. "Why would you say that?"

She shrugged and moved the clipboard to her front. "I dunno. You've got that look on your face—tired, but satisfied. And if it's not a hangover, then that can only mean . . ."

Noah stared, imploring her to go on. "What?"

Paula looked out at the busy studio with her striking green eyes and offered another coy smile. "_Someone_ got lucky last night."

Noah laughed and set his coffee on the floor by his chair. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

Paula waved him off. "Hey, when you're single, you make a sport out of teasing obviously happy couples."

Noah nodded. "Well, you're good at it." He paused, surveying the hustle of the movie set and turned towards Paula. "So what've you heard about Andrew Sullivan?"

"Besides what I read in _Filmmaker_ magazine?" Paula shrugged. "The usual. He's been trying to get the top prize at Sundance for years now—probably suckling at the power teat the whole way up."

"But he's professional, right?" Noah asked.

Paula looked at her clipboard. "Hard to say," she said, making a note with her pen. "From what I've heard, he's no different than any other bum trying to make a name for himself. Already Hollywood, I'm sure."

"What do you mean?"

Paula clicked her pen shut and put it behind her ear, leaning down to Noah. "This is between us, but I have a feeling he's going to be a pain in the ass. High-maintenance, diva attitude, the whole enchilada. Doesn't help that he's _between_ girlfriends at the moment. If you ask me, he sounds like a regular asshole—"

"Anyone I know?"

Noah and Paula turned at the voice behind them, seeing as a tall, dark-haired man stood near them with his arms over his chest.

"Who are you?" Noah asked.

The man smiled, revealing a set of pearly-white teeth and a look as though he were amusing a five-year-old. "Andrew Sullivan," he said.

Noah's heart dropped to his knees and he stood, nearly knocking over the coffee next to his chair, and whipped around to face him.

"I assume you're the director?" Andrew asked.

Noah nodded. "Yeah. Noah Mayer." He stuck his hand out for the actor to shake, but the man turned away from him as if Noah were suddenly the most boring person on the planet and addressed Paula.

"Coffee, sweetheart. Two sugars, no cream. Think you can manage that?"

Noah looked at Paula and her pretty face had gone gray and shadowy. "Sure," she said, turning in the opposite direction to get his order. Andrew turned back to Noah and offered him a less-than-enthusiastic grin.

"Shall we get the show on the road?"

0000000

As Noah shot his first scene with Andrew across town, Luke carried a thermos of freshly-made soup down the sidewalk, turning a corner to the street behind his house. He counted the row of posh, pristine bungalows, still unsure of the number on Celeste's house. When he came to a front lawn littered with toys, he walked up the front steps and knocked on the door.

Celeste answered with the phone pressed to her ear. She smiled when she saw him, motioning for him to come in and stepping aside as she continued her conversation.

"Right . . . well, couldn't you do the Donovan account without me?"

Luke stepped into the house and moved to the side for Celeste to close the door. He surveyed the hallway and saw it disheveled with Barbie dolls and coloring books, the TV playing softly in the next room.

"Can I call you back in two seconds?" Celeste said into the phone. "Thanks." She hung up and blew her hair away from her face. "Sorry, it was work. What brings you here?"

Luke held up the silver thermos he was carrying. "I thought that if the girls are still sick, they can have some of my grandmother's special soup. It's supposed to cure anything."

Celeste smiled and took the canister from Luke. "That's so sweet," she said. "Sarah's much better, but Mary's having a harder time shaking it."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you kidding?" Celeste laughed. "She loves nothing more than to stay at home and terrorize me."

"You _do_ seem a little overwhelmed," Luke said, looking her over. "Anything I can do to help?"

Celeste stared at him for a moment. "Actually, can I ask you—?"

"Mommy, the movie's over." Sarah appeared behind her mother, nearly in the doorway of the TV room, and dressed in purple pajamas. She looked up at Luke and her face brightened instantly, the pox on her skin mostly gone with only a little redness remaining. "Hi, Luke!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, Sarah," Luke said, smiling.

The phone in Celeste's other hand rang and she rolled her eyes. "Sorry, I'll just be a second." She turned and headed towards the visible kitchen in the back of the house.

Sarah tugged on Luke's hand and pulled him towards the TV room. "Wanna see my doll house?"

Luke laughed and followed her into the room. "Sure."

The little girl guided him to a corner of the room where a plastic doll house was, as tall as the sofa it stood next to. Sarah sat cross-legged on the floor and held out a half-naked Barbie to Luke.

"You can be Tina," Sarah said as Luke took the doll. "Mary's usually Tina, but she's taking a nap."

Luke sat down next to the child and smiled down at the doll's ratty hair. "Where's Ken?" he asked.

Sarah held up her dark-haired Barbie to Luke's. "He's on vacation." She smoothed out her own doll's hair and spoke in a soft, high-pitched voice. "So, Tina, what should we do today?"

Luke looked at his own doll and played along. "Well, I don't know," he said in an equally as high voice, "I think we should go shopping, I'm not wearing any pants."

Sarah giggled.

"And then we can go to the beauty salon," Luke said in his high voice, jerking his Barbie around. "We can straighten out my lovely hair and talk about boys!"

Sarah dropped her Barbie and rocked backwards onto the floor, laughing from her belly and putting her hands on her face. "You're funny," she said.

Luke smiled and turned when he saw Celeste standing in the doorway of the TV room, grinning at the two with her arms crossed.

"Hey," he said. "We were playing Barbie."

Celeste nodded. "I can see that." She motioned towards her daughter. "Sarah, Luke brought over some nice soup, why don't you go to the kitchen and I'll pour you some?"

Sarah got up off the floor and smiled. "Okay, Mommy."

When she was gone, Luke stood and met Celeste in the doorway. "I should get going," he said, pointing his thumb towards the door.

"Well, wait," Celeste said, holding a hand out. "I have something I want to ask you." She paused, looking over her shoulder at the kitchen then back at Luke. "See, my company's taking on this huge account and my boss wants me working longer hours for a while. I know we just met, and you can say no if you don't want to, but seeing as how I can't afford a nanny right now and I might not always be home in time to meet the girl's after school—"

"Are you asking me to babysit?" Luke asked.

Celeste touched his arm, relieved that he seemed to be offering. "Could you? It would only be for a couple of hours after school, and they can go to your house, if you wanted. I can't pay you as much as a nanny, but I won't be stingy, either."

Luke smiled, looking past Celeste and thinking it over for a moment. "Yeah," he said, "that'll be great, if you're cool with it."

Celeste beamed, her smile as sweet and innocent as her daughter's. "Thank you so much!" she said.

**To be continued**


	4. Burglars and Newspapers

A few weeks later, Luke stepped out the front door early in the morning and checked the mailbox for any letters from home. As he walked back up the front walk, leafing through the bills and junk mail, he stopped when he saw someone else's morning paper lying on top of the hedge bordering his neighbor's yard. He picked it up and looked at his neighbor's red house, assuming the paper boy missed his mark when he made his rounds that morning.

Luke crossed the yard and walked up the front steps of the next house. He rapped on the door and bent over to put the paper on the porch, stepping back when he saw a man opening the front door

"Help you?" his neighbor asked through the screen door. He was taller than Luke by at least a foot, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a build that suggested he might have played a lot of sports in high school.

Luke straightened and mustered half a smile. "I think the paper boy accidentally threw your _Tribune_ on my lawn," he said, holding it out.

The man looked Luke over with a slight scowl on his face, as though his neighbor might have just ruined his otherwise happy morning. He opened the screen door and took the paper out of Luke's hands.

"Thanks," he said.

Luke nodded and began to turn. "Sure."

"You're new, right?" the man asked.

Luke stopped and turned on the step he was on. "Yeah."

"How you liking the neighborhood?"

"It's okay," Luke said, stepping back on the porch. "Still getting settled, but we're doing okay."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, his mouth opened in an odd sort of way. "Uh-huh," he said. "Who's 'we'?"

"Oh, my . . ." Luke stopped when he saw the look on his neighbor's face. He seemed like an edgy kind of man, like he would be uncomfortable if the slightest thing outside of his own world, foreign and unwanted, had suddenly seeped through. "My roommate," Luke backtracked. "We went to college together."

His neighbor nodded and grinned again, a sort of polite, forceful twitch that made Luke think his presence was a bother to this burly old man. He held out the paper.

"So how do you like the _Trib_?" the man asked.

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets, wanting to get away but not knowing how to make the escape. "It's good," Luke said. "Reminds me of the paper back home in Illinois. Except . . ."

The man before Luke cocked his head to the side. "Except what?"

Luke grinned and rolled his eyes, seeing this as an opportunity to make things less awkward with some old-fashioned gossip. "Well, there's this columnist in the OpEd section. Guy sounds like a real stiff."

Luke's neighbor narrowed his eyes and stepped forward, his mouth doing that weird gaping thing again. "Really? Which column?"

"Oh, I don't know," Luke said, waving his hand. "George something. Maybe Samson. Anyway, he did this story last week on a picture in some high school yearbook, and it was the most ridiculous thing I've ever read." Luke laughed but only briefly. The smile on his face was quickly wiped away when he saw a strange, unsettling look in his neighbor's eye.

"Huh," the man said. "That's too bad."

A heavy silence filled the air.

"Right," Luke said, clearing his throat. "Well, I better head back. What was your name again?" He stuck his hand out for the man to shake.

"George Samson," he said, taking Luke's ice-cold hand in his.

0000000

As Noah drove home that day a little after five, he stopped at a red light and thought about what a royal prick Andrew Sullivan was. Everything Paula had guessed about him was right—the man had an ego the size of Texas, an attitude commonly found in the dressing rooms of only the most high-maintenance Broadway actresses, and a nasty habit of swearing when he flubbed a line, forcing Noah to re-shoot nearly every take at least five times.

Noah rubbed his fingers between the bridge of his nose and cruised on once the light was green. He laughed to himself, thinking of how King Andrew had ordered everyone around, yelling cut when it was Noah's call to make and giving unauthorized suggestions to the other actors. He recalled with pride how, at the end of the day, he finally stood up for himself and pulled Andrew aside, telling him that _he_ was the actor and Noah was the director.

"And we're going to keep it that way," he had said.

Noah pulled into his driveway with relief, the weight of the day falling off his shoulder when he saw his modest house with the yellow paneling and crooked door knocker. He turned the car off and took a load of groceries from the back, struggling to get them up the front step without dropping both bags and fumbling with his keys. Once inside, the bag in his left hand slipped and Noah called out for help.

"Luke, can you give me a hand with these groceries?"

There was a slight pause.

"Uh, I can't come to the door right now," Luke said from the living room. "I'm being held hostage."

Noah stopped dead in his tracks, the sliding of the grocery bag on his leg suspended in motion. He dropped the bags and moved down the hall, stopping when he saw Luke sitting in the middle of the living room on a kitchen chair, the glass coffee table pushed to one side. He was tied up in scarves and pink hair scrunchies.

"Luke, what's—?"

"Stop right there!" a small, high-pitched voice said from behind. Noah turned and saw a little girl pointing a hairdryer at him, her face twisted in a playful frown. He threw up his hands and faked a yelp. Another voice giggled somewhere in the room, a munchkin hiding from Dorothy.

"You're a burglar!" Sarah said, pointing the hairdryer closer to Noah. "We caught your partner, he told us everything!"

Noah turned to Luke, his hands still in midair. "Luke, how _could_ you?" he asked, smiling.

His boyfriend shook his head from the chair. "I'm sorry, Noah, but Sarah and Mary had such pretty jewels—I was desperate!"

Mary popped up from behind the couch just beyond Sarah. "Are you gonna steal something?" she asked Noah.

Noah shook his head and put on a stern face. "No, my life of crime ends here. In fact, I brought a special treat for you two."

With that, the game ended, and the girls' frowning, punishing faces lit up with smiles and roses. Sarah put the hairdryer on the couch and bounced up and down in front of Noah, her sister mimicking her excitement.

"Ooh, what is it?"

"What is it?" Mary parroted.

Noah nodded his head towards the front hallway. "Go see for yourself." The two sisters turned and sprinted down the hallway as if the bag held all the secrets in the universe. Noah spun around and smiled at Luke.

"A little help here?" Luke asked, tugging at his restraints.

"I don't know," Noah said, "you look kinda cute all tied up."

"Noah, I've had to pee for the last ten minutes!" Luke cried. "These girls are like sailors, they tied knot after knot . . ."

Noah laughed and kneeled behind Luke's chair, undoing the restraints and helping his boyfriend to his feet.

"Thank you," Luke said.

"No problem." Noah leaned in and kissed Luke softly.

"Noah, what's this?" Sarah asked from behind, coming from the hallway with a small green package in her hand.

Luke pulled away, shoving his hands in his pockets and brushing past Noah to go to the bathroom. Noah turned and knelt in front of Sarah and her sister, taking the plastic package from her hands.

"These," he said, pointing to the round, jelly-like orbs inside, "are Japanese rice cakes."

Sarah scrunched her face up and backed away from the package as though it carried an infectious disease. "Ew!" she said.

Noah mimicked her sour face. "What do you mean "ew," you haven't tried them yet!" He stood and walked over to the kitchen, the two little girls hot on his heels. Noah put the package on the island counter and Sarah helped her sister up on the stool. They sat opposite of him, watching him open the package and cut one of the green, jelly-like cakes in half.

"You each get one half today," he said, sliding the separated cake to the girls, "and the other half when you come over tomorrow. Don't want to ruin your appetite before dinner."

Noah watched as the sisters inspected the new treat first, poking and prodding at it like scientists documenting a new discovery. He grinned widely when he saw Sarah take the first bite, her sister following her lead. The girls chewed and smiled, giving Noah a nod of approval that he chuckled at.

"It's good, huh?" he said.

"It's sweet," Mary said, smacking her lips.

"Oh, I didn't know we were talking about me," Luke said, coming into the kitchen.

"We're eating rice cakes!" Sarah said, licking her fingers.

"I can see that," Luke nodded. He gave Sarah a wink and she giggled with her mouth full.

"How was your day?" Noah asked, wrapping the remaining cake up in the package.

Luke leaned on the counter. "It was good." He brightened and snapped his fingers. "Oh, you remember that guy who wrote the article in the _Trib_? The one about the . . ." Luke looked at the little girls sitting across from him. "About the picture in the yearbook?"

"Yeah, I remember," Noah said.

"Well it turns out, the guy who wrote it is living right next door to us."

Noah snapped his head to Luke. "You're kidding!" he said. "What's he like? Did he say anything about . . ." Noah looked to the girls as Luke had and lowered his voice. "About us?

"Uh, no," Luke said, shrugging. "He didn't say much about anything. He was a weird guy.

A knock came at the door and the children looked up from their snack. The group in the kitchen heard the front door open, followed by a woman's voice.

"Anybody home?" she called.

"Mommy!" Mary and Sarah hopped off their stools at once, running to the door to greet their mother.

She came into the kitchen moments later, her daughters following her and the grocery bags Noah had left in the doorway earlier in her arms.

"Hey, Celeste," Luke said, moving around the island counter to meet her.

"Hey," she said, setting the bags down. "You left these in the hallway."

"Oh, thanks," Noah said.

"Girls, will you go pack your things up, please?" she addressed her daughters. As they scampered off, Celeste dug in her purse and handed Luke a roll of bills "Were they a handful?" she asked.

Luke waved her off. "Naw, they were great. In fact," he said, taking the money from her hand, "I feel like I should be paying _you_ to let me baby-sit."

Celeste laughed. "Yeah, right. You're just saying that."

"I'm serious," Luke said, his face letting Celeste know that he meant it. "They're great."

Seeing Celeste blush, Noah put motioned to her. "So Luke tells me he met our next-door neighbor. George-something, right?"

"Oh, right," Celeste said rolling her eyes. "_Him_."

"What's he like?" Noah asked.

Celeste shrugged her shoulders. "He's pretty quiet. He moved to the neighborhood about two years ago—a widower, I think."

"So he's a nice guy?" Luke asked.

"Nice enough," Celeste said, adjusting her purse strap. "But his son on the other hand . . . he's a pistol."

"What do you mean by that?" said Luke.

"Oh, you know the type," she said. "A rowdy teenager, captain of the football team. A real big-shot, you know? He usually throws parties at his house when his father has to go on location for an assignment."

"Sounds like every-other guy I knew in school," Luke said.

Celeste's daughters came back into the room, their bags trailing behind them. "We're ready!" Sarah said. Celeste turned and smiled at them.

"Say goodbye to Noah and Luke," she said.

Sarah rushed to Luke, jumping in his arms. He hugged her tight and lifted her off her feet. "Whoa, you almost knocked me over!"

Mary stood shyly beside Noah, fiddling with her coat. He knelt down and helped her zip it up, tweaking her nose with his fingers. "You're going to come by tomorrow and help me paint the living room, right?"

The child nodded sheepishly and smiled.

Noah winked at her. "Good girl," he said. He rocked back on his heels, surprised when Mary came in for a hug.

"Okay, girls, time to go," their mother said. She put their bags over her shoulders and ushered her daughters down the hall. "Thanks again, guys," she called.

Luke waved. "See you tomorrow!"

The two men continued to look down the hall until they heard the front door close. Luke turned to Noah and sighed greatly, exhausted from an afternoon of coloring books and burglary.

"Alone at last," Noah said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. Quick as a snake, he wrapped his arm around Luke's waist and reeled him in closer for a deep kiss.

Luke chuckled in the back of his throat as Noah kissed him, pulling away and stroking Noah's brow with his thumb. "Good day?"

"Actually, no," Noah said, frowning. "My new lead is a real pain in the neck. I don't know how I'm going to survive another month shooting with him."

Luke rubbed the back of Noah's neck and offered him a playful smile. "Hmm, is he cute?"

"He's straight," Noah said, giving him a look.

"That's not what I asked you," Luke said. His smile grew.

"He's an asshole. And anyway, the last thing I want to do right now is talk about him or work or anything else."

Luke put his other arm around Noah's waist and squeezed the small of his back. "Well then what should we do?"

This time, Noah gave look a playful smile and stared him in the eyes. "I don't know," he said, "do you still have those scarves the girls tied you up in?"

Luke laughed and pushed Noah away, his back running into the island counter. "Get real!"

Noah grinned, jumping suddenly when his cell phone rang in his pocket. He looked at the number before answering it and groaned. "It's the studio," he said, answering it.

Luke brushed past his boyfriend. "To be continued," he whispered into his ear.


	5. Frustrations and Fears

A few nights later, Noah jerked awake in bed, the blaring sound of rock music coming from the house next door. He blinked a few times and sat up, looking out the window across the room to see nearly every light in George Samson's house on. Noah looked at the digital clock on the nightstand as the hour of midnight winked at him. He turned to Luke and nudged his shoulder.

"Luke?"

His boyfriend turned over onto his back and rubbed his eyes. "What?" he asked, the sound of sleep clogging his throat. "What is it?"

"Do you hear that?" Noah asked.

Luke closed his eyes and scrunched his nose. "Yeah," he said.

"Did that music wake you?"

Luke yawned and turned back over on his side. "No, _you_ did."

Noah sat in bed for a moment, listening to the wailing of the guitar and screaming vocals from his neighbor's house and pulled the covers off himself. He put on a pair of jeans and a sweater lying on the floor and carefully crept out of the room with a scowl on his face.

Noah felt a twinge of fear as he knocked on George Samson's door, wondering how this man could stand the music especially at such a late hour. He waited with his hands in his pockets, fully aware that he was frowning and tapping his foot and probably looking like the world's biggest killjoy.

The door swung open and a young man, probably no older than seventeen or eighteen, stood on the other side. He wore a baseball cap and a jersey, a plastic cup in one hand and his other made into a fist, as though he were preparing to strike anyone who looked at him strangely.

"What?" he demanded.

Noah stood for a heartbeat, momentarily paralyzed by the abruptness of this kid—he barely looked old enough to shave, yet he stood a good half-foot taller than Noah, his muscles bulging from his shirt.

Noah held up a hand as though calling for a truce. "I don't know if we've met. I'm Noah, I live next door. Are you George's son?"

The boy looked at him like Noah might be challenging him. "Yeah?" he said.

Noah could smell a faint hint of alcohol on the kid's breath. He hesitated before beginning again, choosing his words carefully. "I don't mean to be a pain in the ass," he said, "but the music's really loud and I have to go to work early in the morning. Do you think you cou—"

"Fuck off," the kid spat, the words shooting off his tongue like venom.

Noah literally leaned back from his language, shocked by the blow of his harsh tone and even harsher gaze. The teenager began closing the door, but Noah put his foot in the way and held it back with his hand.

"Hey!" he said. "What the hell is your problem?"

"_You_ are," the boy said, looking Noah over as though as he had personally insulted him by simply being alive.

"Hey, faggot!" a voice from inside yelled.

Noah stiffened, his heart jackhammering in his chest. A sudden vision came to his mind that somehow these boys knew how Noah happened to live his life and they were none too proud of it, expressing their anger with words and punches and crowbars . . .

"You playing the next hand, or what?" the voice called.

"Yeah, I'm coming!" George's son yelled back over his shoulder.

Noah removed his foot from the door and the teenager before him gave him one last, cautioning look—a look that meant he was serious about Noah not bothering them again. It was a look he had seen once before back in Illinois, when he walked hand-in-hand with Luke down the street and a passing stranger stared at them with daggers in his eyes.

Noah felt a rush of wind as the boy slammed the door in his face. He stood on the front porch for a moment, processing all that had just happened and headed home. As he took off his shirt and jeans and climbed back into bed, Luke rolled over again onto his back and looked at Noah.

"Hey, what happened?" he slurred, drowsy from sleep.

Noah laid back and pulled the covers up to his chest. "Nothing," he said.

Luke made no reply, instead turning back over to return to his untroubled dreams.

As the music continued to blare from George Samson's house, Noah thought about that look in the boy's face, how scary and natural it seemed to be for him to be so filled with hate at the drop of a hat, or a knock at the door. He rolled over and slipped his arm around Noah's waist, burying his face in Luke's hair and trying not to think about how uncomfortable George's son made him feel.

0000000

Noah listened but didn't watch the scene playing out in front of him, a cardinal sin in the directing world. The voices of the actor's melted into one another as he slowly nodded off in his chair, the music blasting from the night before taking a toll on him.

"Cut!" Andrew Sullivan yelled.

Noah jumped and opened his eyes, sitting up in his chair and searching for Andrew's face to give him a good tongue lashing for hollering out what should have been the director's call to make.

"Hey, driver, you asleep over there?" Andrew asked him. "We got a boom mic about three inches from my face."

Noah looked at the TV monitor next to the camera and saw the faint curve of the boom mic hovering between the actor and his female costar.

"Right, cut!" Noah yelled. He glanced at Sullivan and saw the actor rolling his eyes.

"You need a break, boss?" Andrew said.

Noah clenched his teeth, resisting the urge to tell his cast member to shut up. He sighed when he realized Andrew was right—he _did_ need a break almost as badly as he needed this damn project to be over.

"Okay—take five, people," he called out.

A crew member sounded a buzzer and re-announced what Noah had already said. Noah lowered his head to the side and rubbed his temple, wishing the feeling of being run over by a truck would leave him.

"Bad day?"

Noah looked up to see Sullivan's proud smirk. "The worst," he said.

"Didja have a fight with the missus?" Andrew asked

Noah chuckled and shook his head. "Not by a long shot." He stood from his chair and began making his way out of the studio lot.

"FYI," Andrew called out to him, "it's gonna be real hard taking you seriously if you don't stop acting like you've got a hangover."

Noah walked on without looking back, his face burning and his hands clenching into tight fists. He made his way out to the front lot of the studio, the brightness of the sun intensifying his headache. He opened the door to his trailer and stepped in, reveling in the comforting warmth, warmth like a nice bath or a clean bed of sheets. He laid out across the sofa and rested his feet up over the edge, putting an arm over his eyes. Just as he got settled, a knock came at the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

Paula poked her head in the door. "Sorry to bother you," she said.

Noah removed his arm from over his eyes and looked at her. "It's okay. What's up?"

She jutted her thumb over her shoulder. "You have a visitor," she said.

Noah scrunched his face in displeasure and sighed. "Send them in," he said, turning his head and putting his arm over his eyes again.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm looking for Spielberg's trailer?"

Noah moved his arm away and sat up when he heard the voice. He smiled widely as Luke entered.

"Hey!" he said, standing. "What're you doing here?"

Luke closed the door of the trailer behind him and moved closer, carrying a paper plate covered in tinfoil. "I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd bring you lunch."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "In the neighborhood?"

"Yeah," Luke shrugged. "Took me about thirty minutes of traffic to get _into_ the neighborhood, but it was worth it." He winked and Noah felt his spirits lift at once.

"You're sweet," he said, taking the plate from Luke's hand and giving him a peck on the cheek. He put the plate in the kitchenette area as Luke sat on the couch.

"Judging by the way you left this morning," Luke said, "I take it you're having a bad day?"

Noah unwrapped the tinfoil and shook his head. "You wouldn't believe it," he said. "Not only do I have to work with Joan Crawford out there, but I have to do it on about three hours of sleep."

Luke laughed and moved off the couch, standing behind Noah with a smile on his face. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist. "Anything I can do to help?" he asked.

Noah placed his hand on top of Luke's entwined fingers as they rested on his belly. He turned his head slightly. "You've already done more than enough."

"Would this help?" Luke placed a warm, wet kiss on the back of Noah's neck and he straightened in response.

"You better be careful," Noah said as Luke trailed his lips along his earlobe, "we have about thirty seconds before I have to go back out there."

"Mmm," Luke hummed. His breath on Noah's ear caused him to shudder. "That's plenty of time."

Noah chuckled and tilted his head back as Luke continued to kiss along his hairline. He tightened his grip on Luke's hands and jumped suddenly when the door to his trailer opened.

"Hey, boss—"

Luke jerked away and Noah whipped around, seeing Andrew in the doorway.

"Jesus, sorry," Sullivan said, looking down. He placed his hand on the door and stepped back.

"What is it, Andrew?" Noah asked, nearly breathless.

Sullivan looked back and forth between Noah and Luke, and motioned his head towards the studio. "We're ready for you," he said.

Noah looked at Luke and back at Andrew. "Right," he said. He cleared his throat. "Andrew, this is my boyfriend, Luke."

Sullivan raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," he scoffed. "I can see that."

Luke looked at Noah and he motioned towards the door. "We should get going," he said.

Andrew took the lead as they filed out of the trailer.

"It was nice meeting you, Andrew," Luke said, extending his hand to the handsome actor.

Sullivan gave him a look and glanced at Noah, the director suddenly realizing he hadn't properly introduced Andrew to Luke.

"I can see you've been talking all about me at home," Andrew said. He stared at Noah with a strange sort of irritation and turned to walk towards the studio. "I'll meet you inside," he said.

As he walked away, Luke turned to Noah and said softly, "I see what you're up against."

Noah felt his face drop, the excitement of having Luke over now wearing off when he realized he'd have to get back to work. He sighed.

"I'll see you at home." He leaned in and kissed Luke's cheek.

Luke looked at him for a moment, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? It feels like there's something else going on with you, other than Humphrey Bogart over there."

Noah pursed his lips. He wanted to tell Luke the lingering feeling of apprehension he had been feeling all day towards George Samson's son. He wanted to tell him about his encounter with him last night, how unsettling it was and how, in the small hours of the night, it scared him to think that the teenager might be a smaller, angrier version of the miffed columnist who had something of an irritation with homosexuals. Instead he forced a smile, touching Luke's arm.

"It's nothing. Lack of sleep, that's all."

Luke nodded and didn't question him. He hugged him goodbye and waved as he walked away. Noah watched him go and sighed heavily, dreading the rest of the work day before him.

**To be continued.**


	6. Happiness

That Saturday, Noah and Luke led Celeste's daughters down the sidewalk. Their mother had a doctor's appointment, leaving her children with the only neighbors they practically begged to have watch over them. Luke and Noah were more than willing to give up their Saturday to entertain the girls, offering to take them to the park as the weather was bright and sunny, perfect for cartwheels on the grass and lounging on a blanket. 

Mary and Sarah led the march, kicking a rock around together as Luke and Noah trailed behind, holding hands. "Noah, can you do a handstand?" Sarah asked, kicking the rock out ahead of Mary and turning her head around slightly.

Noah smiled. "I haven't tried in years."

"I'd love to see you do a handstand," Luke said, putting the arm that wasn't holding the blanket around Noah's waist. He drew him in closer.

"I bet you would," Noah said, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Luke and nearly stopped when he saw George Samson's house beyond Luke's head. Their neighbor's garage was open and George's son sat on a workbench in front of a rusty bicycle, screwing in a bolt while wearing a faded beater and sweats. He caught Noah's eye and stared at him, pausing his work.

For a split second, Noah thought about moving away from Luke, the fear that this tough kid might find offense with them being so close gripping his heart like a clamp. He looked away before the boy's penetrating gaze could burn a hole through his soul and put his arm around Luke' shoulder, squeezing him gently.

"What's eatin' you?" Luke asked.

Noah shuddered and looked over his shoulder as George's son continued to stare with that menacing look in his eye. "Goose walked over my grave," he said.

At the park, Noah and Luke laid a blanket out on the grass and watched from their spot as the girls cartwheeled in the grass and danced to music only children can seem to hear. The park was a small patch of grass and trees, a picnic area for families and, Luke guessed, Fourth of July parties. There were benches and grills for cooking, a small cement house for bathrooms and a water fountain near a cluster of stone benches.

Luke and Noah lounged on their blanket and took in the warmth of the day as Mary and Sarah played leap frog. Luke turned on his side, rested his elbow on the blanket and propped his head up with his hand. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.

"Do you think the air smells different here?" he asked, his eyes behind their lids.

Noah smiled slowly. "Different from Illinois? How do you figure?"

Luke opened his eyes and shrugged. "I don't know. It just smells different is all. Like spice and grass. Reminds me of when I was a kid . . ." Luke trailed off and looked at Noah, who was staring at him with a lazy, admiring gaze. "What?"

Noah shook his head. "Nothing." He stroked Luke's brow and pulled back when he heard giggling. He rolled over onto his back, propping himself up by his elbows and saw Sarah and Mary looking at them, covering their mouths as they snickered.

"Are you his boyfriend, Noah?" Sarah asked. She said 'boy' as though it were the yuckiest thing in the world, her bright smile never wavering.

Noah looked at Luke and assumed their mother must have explained a thing or two about them to the girls, possibly glossing over a few details. "Yes," he said with a grin.

The two girls giggled again, Mary copying her sister verbatim as she put her hand over her mouth. "That's silly," Sarah said.

Luke laughed and sat up on the blanket. "Yes, it is silly," he said. "It's very, very silly."

"Boys have cooties," Mary piped up.

"Yeah, boys have cooties," Sarah echoed.

"Not this boy," Noah said, pointing to Luke. "He's had all this cootie shots."

Sarah blinked, idea of a vaccination for such an age-old ailment boggling her mind. He stepped closer to Luke. "Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Luke said, playing along. He scooted closer to Sarah, nearly sitting off the blanker. "In fact," he whispered, "they had to give me two hundred shots all over my body to cure me."

Sarah's eyes widened, her mouth in a half-smile as though she didn't know whether to believe him or not. "Where?" she asked in a lowered tone.

Luke leaned in slowly, then grabbed her and began tickling her under her arms, on her ribs, around her neck. "Here, and here, and here!"

Sarah squealed with laughter and wriggled in Luke's grip. Mary laughed and jumped towards Luke. "Sarah, run!" she cried.

"Oh no you don't," Noah said, scooping her up in his arms and holding her upside down. Mary screamed with joy, her dark hair falling around her face. "What do you think?" Noah asked Luke, who was still tickling Sarah. "Should we throw this one in the ocean?"

"No way!" Mary yelled, giggling.

"I think we should give them _both_ cootie shots!" Luke said, letting Sarah slip away.

Noah put Mary down and the girls ran along the grass together, yelling and squealing and plotting to get back at them. Noah watched as Luke smiled at them. He felt as an inaudible sound seemed to escape a place in his heart and float up around his head. In that moment, he knew what he wanted more than anything else, and the feeling settled itself in his gut like a warm stone.

0000000

When they got back from the park that afternoon, Mary and Sarah's knees a lovely shade of green from grass stains, Celeste arrived from her doctor's appointment as the group made cookies in the kitchen. The children greeted their mother with sticky fingers and earth-smelling hair. Celeste picked them up in her arms.

"Whew! I know two little girls who are getting a bath tonight!" she said. She put them down and met Noah and Luke in the kitchen, the sweet smell of chocolate chip cookies baking in the oven.

"Hey, Celeste," Noah said, scooping a dollop of cookie dough on a baking sheet.

She put a hand in her pocket, more pensive than usual. "Were they alright for you?" she asked.

"Awful," Luke said, giving her a wink.

Celeste smiled weakly and dug in her purse. "Well, no blood and no missing limbs. I'd say it was a good day." She held out a roll of bills to Luke and he shook his head, pushing it away as though her gesture offended him.

"It's on the house," he said.

Celeste pursed her lips and put the money back in her bag. She told her daughters to go get their things and sat on a stool near the island counter.

"How was the doctor's?" Noah asked.

"Fine," Celeste said, clearing her throat. "Just you're average checkup."

Luke looked at her and wiped his hands on a dishtowel. "You okay?" he asked.

Celeste looked at him and forced a grin, a glint of exhaustion fading in her eye that Luke hadn't missed. "Yeah. Long day," she said.

The girls came bouncing into the kitchen and Celeste stood. "Thanks again, guys, you're a life-saver."

After Mary and Sarah said their goodbyes, Celeste left with a strange, faraway look in her eyes. Luke waited until he heard the door close to talk to Noah.

"She looked terrible," he said, pulling a batch of cookies from the oven.

"I know," Noah said, licking his finger. "Wonder what that was all about."

"Maybe she's tired of not see the girls until late. I'll bet her job's getting her down." Luke moved to the sink to wash his hands.

"Yeah . . ." Noah said. He leaned with his hands on the counter, staring out at nothing in particular and wondering how he should say what he was thinking. "You know," he said, turning around. "Being with the girls today . . . watching you with them . . ."

Luke stopped drying his hands and moved closer to Noah.

"It made me realize something," Noah said.

"What?" Luke asked. He felt a small thrill in his heart, seeing Noah with that look on his face like he wanted to say something important but didn't know how.

"It's just that . . . I want what Celeste has," he said, looking at his feet.

Luke grinned playfully. "What, ovaries?"

Noah laughed and raised his head, still surprised that Luke could make him chuckle at the hardest moments in his life. "_No_," he said, "not that." He swallowed hard. "I mean, I want a family."

He slowly looked at Luke, terrified to see his reaction. Luke's face was stuck in amused wonderment. Noah turned to him and stepped closer.

"Please don't freak out," he said, holding up a hand. "It's just . . . I want to be with you forever. I want to grow old with you and, you know, take our kids to softball practice and . . ." Noah studied Luke's face, hardly knowing what to make of his soft smile. He swallowed again, his mouth like sandpaper.

"This would be so much easier if you were a girl," Noah said, more to himself than to Luke. He looked away and realized he might have been too forward, might have ruined a perfectly wonderful day by his declaration. "If you were a girl," he continued, "I could just say 'will you marry me?' and I wouldn't have to fumble around like this—"

"Is that what you're asking me?" Luke said, moving in front of Noah to meet his gaze.

Noah suddenly felt as though all the air left the room. "Yeah," he said, pushing the word out desperately. He locked his eyes with Luke even when all he wanted to do was run away, feeling that if he kept his gaze there would be no chance for possible heartache.

Luke surprised him by putting his head between his hands and kissing him softly. He wrapped his arms around Noah's neck and buried his face in his shoulder.

"Yes," Luke said, his voice muffled in Noah's shirt.

"Yes?"

Luke pulled back, his eyes glistening with tears. "Yes!" he laughed. "Yes to everything! Yes to you, yes to kids—"

Noah let out a relieved breath, barely registering what was happening. "God, I hope you're serious."

Luke pulled him in for another tight hug and kissed the base of his neck. "I've never been more serious in my entire life."

The two men held each other for a while, swaying slowly in the kitchen and revering in the joy they were feeling.

Noah broke the embrace and brushed a small tear from Luke's face with his thumb. "Guess this wasn't the most romantic place in the world—"

"It was perfect," Luke said. He laced his fingers together with Noah's and kissed his hand.

Noah felt that warm stone in his belly break up and scatter all over his body, sending sparks of something he could only describe as pure bliss shooting in every direction. He looked in Luke eyes, and felt reborn.

**To be continued**


	7. Messages

**A/N: Thanks for the wonderful reviews and support, everyone! I'm really having a great time writing this! Just to caution, there are sensitive issues portrayed in this chapter. I mean no offense. **

* * *

That night, Luke lay with Noah on the couch, his head resting on his boyfriend's chest, rising and falling with every breath Noah took. They had lit candles and soft music played from the dining room, enveloping the two in subtle romance as they snuggled on the couch.

"What do you think our kids will look like?" Luke asked.

Noah traced his finger up Luke's back and slowly rolled his eyes to the ceiling, lost in thought. "Well, we know that without some divine miracle, they wouldn't look anything like us."

Luke chuckled.

"But it doesn't really matter what they look like or where they come from," Noah continued, "as long as we can have them."

"Mmm," Luke murmured in agreement. "Boy or girl?"

Noah thought about it for a moment then smiled. "Two girls," he said. "And three boys."

"That's five kids!" Luke exclaimed. "Are you footing the bill for every one of them to go to college?"

"We won't have to," Noah said. "They'll have so many scholarship opportunities coming from a gay family in California who adopted them, they're be accepted into Harvard the minute they arrive."

Luke laughed louder this time, feeling the vibrations in Noah's chest as his boyfriend snickered deep in his throat. A sudden knock at the door made Luke lift his head up.

"I'll get it," he said, climbing off of Noah. He walked down the hallway, wondering who could be calling so late, and opened the front door to see George Samson on the other side.

"Oh," Luke said, surprised. "Hey, Mr. Samson, how are you?"

"I'm fine, Luke," the middle-aged man said, nodding his head but not smiling. "Can I come in?"

Luke stared at him for a moment and stepped aside. He led George into the hallway and closed the front door. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

George sighed deeply and put his hands in the pockets of his denims, staring at the floor like a kid who was about to take a math test he didn't study for. "I'll cut right to the chase," he said. "My boy, Danny, said . . . ." George paused and lifted his hooded gaze to meet Luke's confused stare. "He said that while he was working in the garage today, he saw you and your . . . _roommate_ holding hands." George rubbed the back of his neck and looked down again. "More than that, he told me. Said you guys had your arms around each other."

Luke furrowed his eyebrows, a feeling of disgust slowly building inside of him. "George, what are you getting at?"

His neighbor looked down the hall and sighed again. "I get it. I understand why you told me he was your roommate . . . in hindsight, it's not like you really lied, anyway." He looked at Luke, his face set to explain. "What I mean to say is, I don't care what you do in the privacy of your own home—that's your business. You seem like a nice guy, Luke, and I ain't got nothing personal against you—"

"Just the way I live my life?" Luke asked.

George pressed his lips in a thin line, his eyes narrowing. "Look," he said sharply, "the minute you walk out that front door, it ain't so private anymore. And excuse me for having to say, but Danny was none too comfortable seeing you and . . ."

"Noah?"

"Seeing you and Noah like _that_. I think you can understand how some people around here might not be comfortable having to watch you two acting like that in public."

"You mean people like you, right?"

George stared at Luke, and Luke tried to match his intense gaze. "You know, you're right, George," Luke said. "It _is_ our business. It's our business to decide how we want to live our lives and where and when we decide to 'act like that' in public. If you don't like it, then don't look."

Luke turned to the door and put his hand on the knob. He whipped his head around as George touched his shoulder.

"I ain't through talking to you!" George said.

"How many straight couples have you asked to stop 'acting' like they do in public? Have you ever told your son to stop 'acting' when he's taking a girl out?"

"It's not the same, Luke! It's not right!"

"Who the hell are you to tell me what's _right_? What gives you the authority to tell me how to love a person? Did we hurt anyone? Did we strip off all our clothes and make out on your lawn?"

"I can't listen to this," George brushed past Luke and opened the door. "I really didn't want to hate you, Luke."

Luke shook his head. "That's your problem, not mine." He slammed the door shut as George left, leaning back on the wall. He looked down the hall and saw Noah lurking in the corner.

"That was brutal," he said.

Luke walked over to him slowly and lowered his head. "He said that he hates me."

Noah put his hands on Luke's shoulders. "He's a bigot. Probably the only one left in the whole state."

"Yeah, and we have to move in right next door to him."

"Are you worried?" Noah asked.

Luke paused. "A little."

"What should we do about it?"

Luke sighed. "I think . . . we should have dessert." He put his arm around Noah and led him down the hall to the kitchen. "Come on," he said, "I'll make you a banana split."

The next day work, Noah was surprised when Andrew called him and asked if they could meet for lunch. Ever since Sullivan saw Noah and Luke together in the trailer, it was as if his prima Donna attitude had evaporated and left a cooperative, even nice, human being in place.

"Uh, yeah," Noah said into the phone. "Where did you have in mind?" After Noah hung up the phone, Luke asked who had called.

"It was Andrew," he said, "he wants to meet me at Louvre's for lunch."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Wow, sounds like he turned over a new leaf."

Noah shrugged. "I guess so."

"Well," Luke said, "let me drive you down there. I need to pick up some groceries for our dinner with Celeste and the girls tonight."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, no problem," Luke said. "How long can it take?"

At nearly fifteen minutes into his lunch with Andrew, Noah was already tapping his foot and wondering where the damn waiter was with their menu. They sat outside the trendy bistro, a haven for moody poets and yuppies that needed a little sunshine.

"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," Andrew said.

Noah looked past him at an oncoming waiter. "Sure," he said. He touched the server's arm as he passed by and asked for a menu.

Andrew put his elbows on the table and leaned in. "I wanted to apologize."

Noah looked at him.

"And not just for . . . you know, walking in on you and your boyfriend in the trailer, but for my overall attitude. I know I must be a pain to work with."

Noah shrugged and offered him a smile. "I guess it's something I'll have to get used to if I want to work in showbiz."

Andrew tipped his water glass towards him. "Well, we're not all like that."

Noah felt himself relaxing. The waiter came by and took their orders. Noah asked for a salad while Andrew ordered the largest thing on the menu, a steak with asparagus and rosemary potatoes.

"You must be hungry," Noah said.

Andrew sat back with a lazy smile. "What can I say?" He said. He lowered his voice. "I've got a voracious appetite."

Noah started to laugh, then stopped when he saw the way Andrew was looking at him—a cocky smirk on his face with an odd sort of come-hither look that only Luke would often give him as they fooled around. Noah took a drink of water and scanned the patio for their waiter.

"So, uh, why the change of heart?"

Andrew's face dropped and he sat up. "Huh?"

"I mean, why are you just now apologizing for your behavior?"

"Oh," Andrew sighed, smiling again. He shrugged. "It's been my experience that if you want to get ahead in the business, you have to drop the attitude sometimes and just make nice." He gave Noah that look again, that dreamy look of lust and playfulness. "And I intend to be _very_ nice."

To Noah's surprise, Andrew reached out and placed his hand on top of his, lingering slightly and stroking his knuckle. Noah pulled back sharply just as the waiter came by with his salad and stood, his face twisted in confusion.

"You know what?" Noah said. "I'm not so hungry anymore."

Andrew sat back and looked up at Noah, his face the picture of innocence. "What wrong?" he asked.

Noah opened his mouth to speak, to say something about how uncomfortable and odd his cast member's behavior was, but shook his head instead and walked away.

"I'll see you at the studio on Monday," he said.

Noah stood by the car where Luke had parked and wondered if he should tell him how Andrew had acted. He wondered if maybe he was just overreacting, that Andrew's seemingly flirtatious nature was just the casual style of someone who, up until now, had been an impossible jerk to work with.

Noah spotted Luke coming towards the car with a bag of groceries and a frown on his face. When he offered to help, Luke slid by him coolly and put the bag in the backseat, slamming the door and moving to the driver's seat with barely a word. And Noah got in the front seat, he buckled his seatbelt and looked at Luke's angry, faraway look.

"What happened?" he asked.

Luke gripped the steering wheel for a moment, then put the car in drive and pulled forward. "Nothing," he said.

As they drove down the neighborhood, Noah felt as though Luke were angry to him about something, and he rattled his brain to try and figure it out.

"Luke . . . are you okay?" Noah asked.

Luke looked at Noah, a flash of contempt in his eyes. His face softened, however, once he saw Noah's clueless, worried gaze and offered him a small smile.

"It's nothing," he said, turning his head back to the road.

"Are you sure?" Noah asked.

Luke nodded and smiled wider. "Yeah. I guess I'm still all worked up over George."

Noah patted his arm, not fully believing him, but smiled, nonetheless. "Well don't worry, we'll forget all about him tonight."

They rode the rest of the way home in silence, and Noah wondered in the back of his mind why Luke didn't ask him about his lunch with Andrew, relieved at the same time for not having to talk about it.

"To Noah and Luke," Celeste raised her glass of wine at the dinner table that night, and the group clinked glasses with smiles and good cheer. Sarah and Mary acted like the adults and slammed their plastic cups together, spilling grape juice on their napkins.

"Girls, please," Celeste said.

"Sorry, Mommy," Sarah said, fighting hard to suppress a smile.

"So, have you set a date yet?" Celeste asked.

Luke looked at Noah. "We're not really sure," he said. "We don't have much experience with this sort of thing."

"As long as we don't wait _too_ long," Noah said, taking Luke's hand in his. His was delighted to see boyfriend's mood had changed dramatically the second he began cooking dinner, sautéing onions and stirring noodles like nobody's business and with a smile to boot.

Celeste sipped her wine and set the glass down, tracing her finger along the lip of the stemware. She offered the couple a smile. "I'm so happy for you guys," she said.

Luke heard a pang of sadness in her throat and swallowed.

"And I . . ." Celeste laughed and put her hand under her chin. "I'm really, really happy to see you with my girls. I'm so glad you're here."

Noah frowned when he saw Celeste's eyes well up in tears. She sniffled and clenched her other hand into a tight fist, mustering up a half-hearted smile.

"Mommy," Sarah said, "why are you crying?"

"Celeste, what's—"

Before Luke could finish his sentence, an object came hurling through the plate glass window behind them, sailing through the dining room and spraying shards of glass everywhere.

"Get down!" Luke ordered.

The girls screamed and fell under the table. Celeste covered her head and crawled under the table to shield her daughters. Luke and Noah ducked for cover, but by then the object had already landed across the room, glass covering the table like bits of frost.

Noah slowly rose, following Luke. The girls cried under the table as their mother tried to calm them with soothing words.

"What was that?" Noah asked, breathing heavily.

Luke pointed to an area on the carpet where a red brick lay wrapped in brown paper. He knelt under the table and helped Celeste to her shaky feet, telling her to go to the kitchen with the girls. She carried her daughters into the next room and Noah brought over the brick that flew threw their window. He set it on the table and unwrapped the brown paper, flipping it over to read a single-worded message:

_Fags._

**To be continued**


	8. Unsure

**A/N: Sorry this one took me so long. I've been crazy-busy with school. Thanks for all the reviews! Watch out for some angst! **

* * *

"So you say you haven't had any other confrontations with this guy?"

A police officer stood before Luke and Noah, pen and pad in his hand, jotting down notes about the possibility of George Samson being a suspect. Three other officers combed the house and searched the backyard for any evidence or traces of where the brick-throwers might have gone.

"No . . ." Luke said. He looked at Noah. "Well, actually, he came over here the other day. He wasn't violent or anything, but he said he didn't like the way Noah and I were together." Luke paused. "He said he hated me."

Officer Grady nodded as he made notes, and looked up at the boys with a weary, neutral sort of gaze. "I'll get one of my guys to check it out next door. Mind if I take another look around?"

"Go ahead," Noah said.

As Officer Grady turned away from them, Noah put his hand on Luke's back and motioned towards the kitchen. "We should see how Celeste and the girls are."

Another officer was questioning Celeste as she sat on a stool near the island counter, Mary clinging tightly on her lap and Sarah sitting by her feet. Luke bent over and touched Sarah's shoulder. He jerked back when she jumped at his touch, his heart swimming in guilt over the events of the night.

"No one was hurt?" the trim, Latino officer asked Celeste.

She shook her head. "No, just a little shaken up."

Mary pulled her head away from her mother's shoulder, her face twisted in a scared frown. "Are the bad people gonna come to our house?" she asked. Her voice was choked with worry and tears.

Noah closed his eyes and put a hand to his mouth. Luke pulled Sarah closer and this time she didn't jump, moving into his arms for a hug, instead.

The officer smiled and winked. "No way, sweetie. We're police officers, we'll catch the bad guys."

Mary didn't smile back, only turned her head and buried her face in her mother's warm breast again. The officer's smile faltered and he turned to Luke and Noah. "Has anything like this ever happened before?" he asked.

"Not here," Luke said, "no."

The officer nodded. "I'm sorry it did."

Officer Grady entered the kitchen. "The Samson's are out," he said. "We're gonna have to check back on them when they come back." The officer paused and looked around at the faces in the room. "Is there anything else we can do for you?" he asked.

"Just find whoever did it," Luke said.

Sarah pulled out of Luke's embrace and turned to her mother. "Mommy, I want to go home," she said.

"Alright," Celeste sighed.

"Do you need an escort, ma'am?" the Latino officer asked.

"Yes, thank you," Celeste said, rising with Mary in her arms. She turned to Luke and Noah, her eyes brimming with tears. "I am so sorry," she said in a hushed tone.

Noah gave her a weak smile and Luke put his hand on her shoulder. "Get some sleep," he said.

As Celeste filed out with the police officers, Officer Grady turned to the two men before heading out the door. "We'll let you know as soon as we find something," he said. "In the meantime, keep your doors locked." He paused, then pulled a card from his pocket. "If you need anything, call me at this number."

"Thanks," Luke said, taking the card.

Officer Grady nodded and put his hat on. He headed out the door and Luke locked it after him, putting the card in his back pocket and turning to where Noah should have been. He looked around and saw him in the dining room, picking broken glass up from around the table where the brick had flown in. Luke knelt down beside him and helped him clean up, eyeing his boyfriend as he concentrated deeply on his task.

"Are you okay?" Luke asked him.

"I'm fine," Noah said through gritted teeth. He shook his head, his hand filling up with bits of clear, sparkling glass. "They shouldn't have been here," he said.

Luke looked at him. "What?"

"Celeste and the girls. They shouldn't have to see this kind of stuff."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, well . . . they did."

Noah stood with a handful of glass and brushed past Luke, stomping towards the kitchen. "It's not _supposed_ to be this way."

Luke stood and followed him. "What are you getting upset at me for?" he asked.

Noah threw the glass in the trash can under the sink and turned around. He was tired and bitter, evident by the way his mouth was pencil-thin and his eyelids drooped heavily. He looked at Luke as though he were about to let in on him, blame him for something that wasn't anyone's fault. Instead, he walked past him, leaving a chilly breeze that Luke shuddered at. Luke whipped around and followed him in the dining room again.

"What is it with you all of a sudden?" Luke asked, looking down at Noah as he picked up glass.

"Nothing," Noah said.

Luke knelt to his height. "Would you stop picking up glass for a second and talk to me?"

"Ow!" Noah cried. He dropped a jagged piece of glass he had picked up and held up a bleeding finger.

"Are you alright?" Luke asked, taking his hand and examining it.

Noah pulled away sharply and stood, heading into the kitchen. Luke sighed through his nose, anger building inside of him. He followed Noah once more and slammed the kitchen door shut behind him.

"If you don't tell me what's going on in three seconds, I swear I'll—"

Noah whipped around from where he was at the sink, the tap running. "It shouldn't_have_ to be like this!" Noah yelled, throwing the towel he had pressed to his hand on the ground. "We shouldn't have to be picking up glass in the dining room or having the police look through our house!"

"What are you—"

"I wouldn't care if it was just the two of us!" Noah continued. "I could deal with it if it was just us, but Celeste and her children were here!"

"Noah, it doesn't matter. Bad things happen," Luke said, stepping closer to his boyfriend, "we can't contr—"

"It matters to me!" Noah said. "If we can't even go to the park without being singled out, if we can't even have dinner with friends without a brick hurling through our window, what's it going to be like when we have our own kids?"

Luke stopped. His face softened, finally realizing what this was all about. He moved around the island counter and stood before Noah. "Is that what this is all about?" he said.

"What else could it be?" Noah said in a softer tone. "Luke, somebody could have gotten hurt tonight. And what if it wasn't a brick, what if it was something else, something worse?"

"But it wasn't," Luke said.

"But it could have been!" Noah raised his voice again. He looked at Luke, searching his eyes.

Luke paused, nodding slowly. "So you're worried the same thing will happen when we have kids of our own?"

Noah looked away. He turned to the sink and ran his hand under the tap.

"Well, I hate to break this to you," Luke said with a laugh, "bad stuff happens all the time—"

"This isn't a joke, Luke." Noah turned to him, his face dead serious.

"Noah, there's nothing we can do about it!" Luke exclaimed. "We're gay, we're a minority! There's always going to be someone who doesn't like us, even in California. It sucks, but it's true."

"What about our kids?" Noah yelled. "Are you going to say the same thing to them when they get teased at school?"

"Why are we arguing about children we don't even have yet?" Luke cried.

"Because I _care_, Luke! I care what'll happen in the future, and if I have to see what I saw on Mary and Sarah's faces when that brick came through our window, I'm not sure I . . ." he trailed off, staring at Luke for a moment as though he regretted what he didn't say.

"What?" Luke asked. "You're not sure about what?"

Noah paused and turned the tap off, his hand dripping blood and water. "I'm not sure I even want to have kids," he said in a low voice. "Not if they have to go through this."

Luke stared at Noah. He didn't realize that his mouth was hanging slightly open, wasn't aware of the sudden terror in his eyes until Noah looked at him with a sorry, pleading gaze. Noah walked past him.

Luke turned to him as he left. "Noah—"

Noah stopped. "Don't," he said. He started walking down the hall to the bedroom.

"What about the glass?" Luke called.

"Leave it," Noah's small voice said from the other room. He closed the door to the bedroom and Luke was left alone in the kitchen, trying to process everything he had just heard.

Luke looked down at the tiled floor and saw a few beads of Noah's blood, swirled with water from the sink and standing out amongst everything else. He took a dishrag from the sink and sat on his haunches, wiping it up. When the spot was clean, Luke sat back against the island counter, wedged between it and the kitchen sink, and buried his head in his hands.

**To be continued**


	9. Staying Away

**A/N: Thanks again for your wonderful reviews, and for your patience! We're in the home stretch, don't give up on me now! **

* * *

Later that night, as Luke washed dishes from their short-lived dinner party, he pretended not to hear as the kitchen door opened and closed. He ran the tap, washed a plate, rinsed and repeated. He could feel Noah in the room, could almost sense his body as a person might sense an object nearby even while blindfolded. He had been with him long enough to know when he was nearby.

Luke waited for Noah to say something, waited for a noise other than the running water to break the tension.

"Do you need me to help with the glass?" Noah asked suddenly, his voice barely a whisper.

Luke turned the tap off and wiped a set of utensils, not bothering to turn around. "I already took care of it."

A silence filled the room.

"Oh," Noah said, "thanks."

Silence once more.

Luke paused, his hand half-submerged in the sink as he waited for Noah to say something else. When he didn't, Luke went back to washing, shaking his head and fighting the urge to mumble under his breath. He was surprised suddenly when he felt Noah wrap his arms around his waist from behind. Luke turned the water off and placed his wet hands over Noah's as they rested on his stomach. He leaned back into his boyfriend and Noah put his chin on the curve of Luke's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Noah said.

"I'm sorry, too."

Noah kissed Luke's neck and Luke turned his head slightly, smiling as a sign of truce. He turned around to face Noah and pulled on the collar of his shirt, his face serious.

"I know you're worried," Luke said. "But we have to accept the fact that bad things might happen when we have our own children."

Noah nodded, lowering his eyes. "I know." He paused and lifted his hooded gaze to meet Luke's concerned eyes. "I just wish it didn't have to be like this."

Luke shrugged. "Comes with being yourself, I guess. If we pretended we didn't love each other, we'd have an easier time with people, but we'd be miserable."

A small smile curled Noah's lips. "Is that why you're with me?" he asked. "You'd be miserable, otherwise?"

Luke chuckled and leaned in to Noah, close enough for their noses to touch. "Now don't go getting full of yourself." He kissed his boyfriend tenderly, as if to prove to him that he loved him by the way he lightly touched his tongue to Noah's and lingered on his bottom lip for a moment before pulling away.

Noah beckoned him closer and Luke embraced him tightly. Noah put his head on Luke's shoulder and Luke stroked his hair, swaying ever so slightly and murmuring in his ear to dispel all of his worry.

"I love you," Noah said with his face buried in Luke's shoulder.

Luke kissed his neck and ran his fingers through hair on the back of his head. "I love you, too."

0000000

The next day, Luke got a call from Officer Grady around one in the afternoon. He had been typing on his computer, trying to get some writing done and thankful for the time after Celeste had called to say that she was taking the day off and didn't need him to watch the girls.

"We contacted your neighbor, Mr. Samson," Officer Grady said on the phone. "He has an alibi—both he and his son were in Sacramento visiting relatives that weekend."

Luke rubbed his chin. "What about his son's friends? Isn't it possible—"

"It's possible, Mr. Snyder, but unless one of them comes forward, we have no reason to suspect anyone else."

Luke stood and felt his face become hot. "So you're just going to let them go?"

"Mr. Snyder," Officer Grady's tone became weary and annoyed. "We are doing everything we can to help you, but in these situations, it's very rare somebody would come forward to confess. There's just not enough evidence—"

"What are we supposed to do, then? What if they come back?" Luke was yelling and he didn't care. He was hurt, furious at the fact that the people responsible for terrifying them would get away _scot free_.

"We'll continue the investigation and I'll let you know if we have another lead. For now, just keep your doors locked and try to lay low."

_Lay low. _Luke cringed at the idea. He hated that the people who did this were winning, hated the idea that what they were trying to accomplish was something that they had succeeded in doing—they didn't want to see Luke and Noah together in the first place, and now the two would have to go into hiding.

Luke released his clenched fist and looked out the kitchen window to his neighbor's house. "Thank you, Officer," Luke said through clenched teeth. He hung up the phone and set it on the counter, staring out the window and simmering in his own frustration.

By the third knock on George Samson's door, Luke took it as a sign that his neighbor was avoiding him, and therefore guilty on all accounts. When George finally opened the door, Luke was surprised that his courage didn't leave him.

"Luke," George said. He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Can I come in?"

George hesitated, then opened the screen door for Luke and stepped aside to let him in. Luke crossed his arms over his chest and turned in the entryway, standing by the stair banister.

"The police called earlier, we heard about what happened—"

"Did you have anything to do with it?" Luke said.

George blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open. "No." he said.

Luke gave him a look as though to tell him he knew he was lying, but George only shook his head. "Look, I know I said some things to you, but Danny and I were in Sacramento at the time, there's no way—"

"What about your son?" Luke asked.

"What _about_ him?" George asked. He stepped forward, feeling the challenge.

"You don't think he's capable of doing something like that? Hurling bricks through people's windows?"

"I told you, and the police, we were out of town this weekend! And Danny would never do anything like that, it's absurd—"

"So it's completely impossible that he might have gotten one or two of his friends from the football team to do his dirty work?"

George took another step forward and pointed at Luke. "I don't like the way you're talking to me, Luke—"

"How would you have me talk?"

"Like you ain't accusing us of everything!" George shouted.

"You are the only two people out of this whole _town_ who seem to have a problem with Noah and me! What else do you expect me to think, George?"

"My boy would never do that, and neither would I!"

"Stay the _hell_ away from us, George!" Luke yelled, getting right in his neighbor's face to make his point. He breathed deeply, anger seeping out of every pore. He lowered his voice. "If anything else happens to us, I _will_ have you arrested."

George stared Luke square in the eyes, seemingly non-intimidated by the boy's threat. "I think you should leave," he said in a flat, calm tone. George stepped aside and opened the front door.

Luke pursed his lips and didn't break his gaze from George, feeling that if he were to look away, he would lose whatever battle they were fighting together. Luke took a step out the door and turned to give George one last, warning look, and saw past the man's shoulder his as his son stood on the stairwell. Luke looked up at him as Danny stared down from his perch—a small, cocky smile curling on the teenager's thin lips. Luke turned and stepped out onto the porch. George slammed the door behind him, and a cold disgust slowly started to build in the pit of Luke's stomach.

0000000

Across town, Noah checked his watch and sighed greatly. It was the third take on an important scene and it seemed Andrew Sullivan had waited until now to completely mess up his lines.

"Shit, let me do that again!" Andrew said, turning to the camera.

"Cut!" Noah yelled. He put his hand on his forehead. "Take five, everyone."

A buzzer rang and the cast a crew scattered. Noah looked at Andrew and his cast member frowned, lowering his head as though he were ashamed. The director stood and began walking to his trailer.

"Hey, boss," Andre said, jogging to catch up.

"Not now," Noah said.

"It's kind of important, got a minute?"

Noah stood on the step of his trailer and opened the door. "That depends, are you going to remember to say your lines correctly next time?"

Noah stepped into the trailer and Andrew followed, shutting the door behind him. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened over lunch."

Noah took a bottle of water from the small refrigerator in the kitchen nook and took a sip. He remained in his spot, his back to Sullivan. "Whatever you have to say," Noah said, "it doesn't matter."

"No, but it does," Andrew said, walking around to Noah's side. "I just need you to know—"

Noah turned to Sullivan. "You know what I don't get about you? You come here, act like a big-shot, then you try to . . . you come _on_ to me like some—"

"I'm sorry I did that—"

"And anyway, I thought you were straight?" Noah asked, setting his bottled water down.

Andrew shrugged and smiled. "That's what a lot of people think. I guess . . ." he moved closer to Noah, "sometimes I like chocolate, and sometimes I like vanilla." Andrew put his hand on Noah's shoulder and Noah jerked back.

"Stop it!" he cried. "This is completely unacceptable."

"Okay, I admit it!" Sullivan said, putting his hands up as if to surrender. "I like you, Noah, is that so wrong?"

"Yes! Yes it is, I have . . ." Noah looked around and lowered his voice as though people might hear them. "I have a boyfriend and you know that."

Andrew nodded, that coy look of playfulness illuminating his face again. "I know." Sullivan raised his eyebrows and faked a pout. "I know it's wrong of me and everything, and I know you have a gorgeous boyfriend, but . . ." Andrew slid his hand up Noah's arm. "I can't help it." Sullivan leaned in and drew Noah's mouth to his, lips parting, tongue searching, a wild abandon fusing his mouth to Noah's until—

"Noah, I—"

Noah pushed Andrew away instantly at the voice. He looked to the door where the person had burst in and saw Luke standing there. Time slowed as Noah stared at his boyfriend, a look of pain and surprise morphing on Luke's face. Noah's heart sped up and, with it, time seemed to catch up, just in time for Luke to flee out the door.

Noah ran past Andrew and out the door, chasing Luke and calling out his name.

"Wait!" he cried, grabbing his boyfriend's wrist. "It's not what you th—"

Luke ripped his hand away and turned, a menacing look of hatred burning in his eyes that scorched Noah's soul. "Don't," he said. His voice had a chilling edge, dangerous enough to send a shiver down Noah's spine.

"Luke, please wait!" Noah cried after his boyfriend.

"Stay away from me!" Luke shouted, not bothering to turn his head around as he walked back to his car.

The world spun backwards. Noah felt dizzy and lightheaded, felt as though he were in a dream he couldn't escape where he was running and not getting anywhere. He called out one last time to his boyfriend, but Luke barely seemed to twitch a hair. A panic seized Noah when he realized the full weight of the situation. He put his hands on his head and looked out where Luke had been walking away.

"No, no . . ." he muttered.

He felt his heart ripping in two, like a searing scalpel was tearing at his flesh and causing him to bleed out from within.

"Noah!" Andrew said from behind. "Noah, I'm so sorry—"

Noah turned, hand clenched in a tight fist, and swung at Sullivan, hitting him square in the jaw with a grunt and causing the actor to fall sideways on his knees. He looked down at Andrew, his hot, angry breath blowing out of his nose like a bull ready to charge. He pointed as the man held the place where Noah had hit him and yelled with tears in his eyes,

"Don't you _ever_ come near me again, Andrew!"

**To be continued**


	10. Trust

"Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Noah didn't bother to turn around to address Naomi, the assistant director. He was too busy fumbling for his keys in his jacket, the sweltering heat of the trailer enclosing him. He felt like he was running on pure adrenalin, battery acid pumping through his veins and only one, solitary thought on his mind: he needed to catch up with Luke.

"Finish the scene," he said to his assistant director. "We'll pick up on the rest tomorrow."

"Are you kidding me?" Naomi cried. "You think you can just walk out whenever you feel like it? We've got two weeks until shooting is suppose to wrap—"

"We'll finish by then," Noah said, walking past Naomi to the door. He exited the trailer and walked quickly towards his car in the next lot, his assistant director following him. "This is an emergency," he continued, eyes focused out ahead.

"Did I hear you just socked Andrew Sullivan in the face?" When Noah didn't respond, Naomi grabbed his arm and swung him around. "This is serious, Noah! Andrew could sue."

Noah pulled his arm away and turned to keep walking, his heart in his throat. "I don't care," he said. He climbed into his truck and looked at Naomi. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this.

Naomi sighed, pursed her lips, then nodded. "Go."

Noah didn't need her blessing, but he tipped his head anyway and started the truck, peeling out of the parking lot like a man on a mission.

0000000

When he got to the house, Noah closed the front door louder than he intended, scared out of his mind and hoping the worst wasn't about to happen. "Luke?" he called out. He walked down the hall and saw Luke coming from the bedroom with a scowl on his face. "Luke, I—"

Luke brushed past him and entered the kitchen. "Save it," he said.

Noah followed him, forgetting the words he had practiced in his mind on the way home, opting instead to speak from the heart.

"Luke, it's not what you think, let me explain—"

Luke whirled around, the island counter separating them. "Oh really?" he said. His voice was as sharp as an angry dog. "So what was it, then? Just a quick peck in between takes for good luck? 'Break a leg, Andrew, here's a kiss!'"

"Luke, stop that!" Noah cried. "You didn't see everything—"

"Oh, I saw plenty, Noah." Luke said, moving to the pantry and pulling something from the top shelf. "I saw your lips on his and I saw his hands around you. That was enough."

Noah went closer to Luke and turned him around by his shoulder, shocked to see a bottle of wine reserved for guests in his boyfriend's hand. "What are you doing with that?"

Luke jerked away and moved around the counter, separating them again. "What's it look like?" he said, opening a drawer and rummaging for a corkscrew.

"Would you stop and talk to me?"

"Sorry, don't feel like it," Luke said. He popped the cork out of the bottle and Noah reached out and grabbed the wine by the neck out of Luke's grasp.

"You didn't see the whole thing," Noah said. "_He_ came on to _me_!"

"Are you sleeping with him?" Luke asked.

The question literally threw Noah back. He stepped away and set the wine bottle down. "How can you ask that?"

"How can I _not_ ask that?!" Luke cried. "I saw you that day you had lunch with him, I saw you holding his hand—"

"And did you see me pull away about five seconds later?"

"Why didn't you tell me about it?" Luke asked, his voice softer.

Noah's face slackened and he tilted his head down. "What?"

"Why didn't you tell me that day, why didn't you say, 'by the way, Luke, Andrew made a pass at me—'"

"Because . . ." Noah paused, searching for the right words. "Because I didn't want to worry you! I didn't think it mattered!"

Luke threw his head back and let out a laugh, slamming his hand down on the marble top of the island counter. "Didn't _matter_?"

Noah took a brave step forward. "You can't think—"

"Okay, so maybe he made a pass at you that day, fine," Luke said, putting up his hands. "But then there's all this talk about you not wanting kids anymore, and then I see you and him _kissing_ in your trailer . . . what the hell am I _supposed_ to think, Noah?"

Noah stared at him, his face a mixture of disgust and shock. "I can't believe you don't trust me."

Luke stepped closer to him, close enough to feel Noah's quick, hot breath on his face. "And I can't believe you didn't trust me enough to tell me he was interested in you."

Noah stared in Luke's eyes, lost for words and reeling from everything that was happening. It felt like a nightmare, one where everyone misunderstood him and nothing went right. He flinched when Luke reached his hand out and snaked it beyond his waist, grabbing the bottle of wine back. Luke looked at him up and down as though challenging him to say something else, then turned away with the wine.

"If you're so ready to accept what you _think_ happened without my side of the story," Noah said, "then maybe we shouldn't be together."

Luke stopped in the doorway that led to the dining room. H hadn't expected this, hadn't expected Noah to give up so easily. "Maybe you're right," he said, not turning around. He wanted to believe his own words, but instantly regretted saying them. Luke stayed in the doorway, waiting for Noah's retort.

"I got this for you," Noah said. His voice was low, almost a whisper.

Luke didn't bother to turn around to see what it was. He heard Noah take something out of his jacket pocket and place it on the counter.

"It's still yours, if you want it."

Luke heard as Noah moved to the door leading out to the hallway. "Where are you going?" he asked, his back still turned. He realized then that he didn't want to see the pain or sadness or, God forbid, anger, on his lover's face.

"Out," Noah said.

Luke heard the door of the kitchen close, then moments later the front door opening and closing. He finally turned and Noah was gone. He looked at the spot where Noah left the item, and saw a velvet box perched on the corner of the counter. Luke walked over and set the wine bottle down, opening the black velvet box with trembling hands. Inside, a gold ring was cushioned on more black velvet, and when Luke picked up the ring and examined it, he found an inscription on the inside of the gold band:

_To Luke, I'll always love you._

**To be continued**


	11. Alcohol and Blood

The wedding band spun on the surface of the table like a blurry, golden orb. Luke watched it from his chair and slammed his hand down on top of it to stop it from spinning. He looked across the table at the open wine bottle staring at him from the other end, its green-yellow tint like the bottom of some forbidden, tropical sea.

Luke held the ring between his fingers and steadied it on the table, spinning it once more and hypnotizing himself with its shape and movement. He looked at the clock on the wall. 7:30 pm. His eyes traveled downwards to the plate-glass window with cardboard and duct tape stuck in the middle, a grim reminder of the hatred that had been thrown through it just a few nights earlier.

He slammed his hand down on the ring once more and held it up to the light, examining the inscription. He looked at the bottle of wine through the center of the ring.

"Stop looking at me," he said to it. Luke placed the band on his left ring finger and let his hand rest on the table. He let a small smile form at the corner of his mouth. He liked the way it looked.

Luke sighed and got to his feet. On his way out of the dining room, he pointed to the wine bottle. "Not tonight, sweetie." He grabbed his house keys and headed outside, locking the front door behind him and turning on the sidewalk. He walked around the block to Celeste's house and knocked on the door.

Sarah's small, pale face stared back at him from the window as she pushed the curtains aside. There was a pause as she disappeared, then the door opened and she stood on the other side in a princess dress and crown.

She looked up at him without a smile, more of a curious frown than anything. "Hello," she said.

Luke looked down at her and nodded. "Hello."

Sarah licked her lips and adjusted her crown. Luke could hear the TV in the other room blaring cartoons.

"Where's your mom?" he asked.

Sarah lowered her head. "She's sick," she said in a soft voice. "She yelled at Mary for spilling juice on the carpet, now she's in the bathroom."

Luke looked past Sarah into the house. "Can I come in?" he asked.

Sarah stepped aside and let him in, closing the door behind them. "Mary's in the TV room."

Luke gave her a small smile and gestured towards the room. "Why don't you join her? I'll go find your mother."

Sarah sauntered off, the saddest little princess Luke had ever seen, and he turned and walked down the hallway. Luke passed the kitchen and turned the corner. He rapped on the bathroom door.

"Celeste?"

He heard her coughing from the other side. "Don't come in!" she cried.

"Celeste, I—"

"Don't come in . . . don't come in."

Luke pressed his ear to the door. He thought he could hear her crying on the other end, her voice small and faltering. The toilet flushed from the other side and Celeste opened the door. Luke nearly stepped back when he saw her—her face was pale and sweaty, her eyes had dark circles and her hair was matted to her face in clumps.

"Jesus," Luke breathed.

Celeste faked a grin and shook her head. "It's just a touch of the flu," she said.

She closed the bathroom door and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Luke followed closely, concern growing on his face.

"What's going on?" he asked,

Celeste laughed and filled a kettle with water from the sink. "I feel so bad," she said, "I scolded Mary for a simple accident and now the girls are afraid of me right now." Celeste put the kettle on the stove and turned the burner on. She turned to Luke and he sat at the table. "I've just been so tired lately, I can't think straight." Celeste sat down with Luke at the kitchen table and put a hand to her face.

Luke stared at her. She wasn't convincing anyone. "Celeste, tell me the truth."

His neighbor looked at him, her eyes welling with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she saw Sarah coming down the hallway.

"Mommy?"

Celeste blinked her tears away and smiled at her daughter. "Yeah, baby?"

"Can I play upstairs with Mary?"

Celeste nodded. "Of course you can." As Sarah started to turn away, Celeste held her hand out. "Wait," she said, "come here and give me a hug."

Sarah cautiously approached her mother, then embraced her tightly when she realized her mom might not have been angry anymore. Celeste stroked her daughter's hair and kissed the top of her head. She let her daughter go and gave her another smile, wiping away a stray tear before Sarah could see it, but not until after Luke had.

"Go on," Celeste said, patting her daughter's bottom. Sarah climbed the stairs to join her sister in their room, holding her dress up so she wouldn't trip. Luke turned back to Celeste. She looked at him, her lips quivering and her smile breaking up like cracks in a dry desert.

"It's not the flu," she said in almost a whisper. Luke reached out and held her hand, his eyes begging to know the truth. Celeste steadier her lips and broke out into a wide grin. "I've got cancer," she said.

0000000

Across town, Noah stared at the empty bottom of a beer mug, watching as the amber residue swirled back and forth as he rocked the glass in his hand. He set the mug down and sighed greatly, putting a hand to his face and cursing the day he had ever moved to California and met Andrew Sullivan and gotten into this horrible mess in the first place. He wanted to be back in Oakdale where it all started for him and Luke, he wanted to be younger and stupider and happier knowing that Luke was his boyfriend, his _first_ boyfriend, and everything was unknown and filled with such possibility—

"Hey, buddy."

Noah looked up at the bartender.

"Hey, buddy," the tattooed man said again. "You been in here nearly three hours and you only had one beer."

So?"

The bartender leaned on his side of the bar, a gruff-looking man well past his prime who looked about as tame as a pit-bull. "So this is a no-parking zone," he said. "Either order up or get up." The old man jerked his thumb upwards.

Noah slid off his barstool and rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. He began walking down the length of the bar to the exit when the bartender called out to him.

"And tell those kids out there to turn their damn music down!"

Noah wasn't listening. He threw the door open and stepped out into the night, the fresh air slapping his face and blowing all the smoke and sweat from the bar away. He wondered if he should go home. He wondered if Luke was even there anymore, and even if he was, there would be the chance he was still in an awful mood.

Noah crossed the parking lot and pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket. A group of teenagers stood around their car a few rows behind Noah's truck, the music from the radio blasting from the speakers. He fiddled with the keys and tried to think of where to go. Not home, not to another bar . . .

"Hey, look who it is!"

Noah turned and saw one of the teenagers from the car coming towards him. It was George Samson's son, Danny.

"Fancy seeing you here!" Danny laughed. The boy held a bottle wrapped in brown paper. Noah assumed it was alcohol. "Small world, ain't it?"

Noah put his keys in the door and unlocked his truck. "I'm just on my way," he said.

Danny stood by him and closed the door as Noah began opening it. He kept his hand on the window to keep Noah from trying to get in.

"The police came by yesterday," he said. "They told us you and your little boyfriend got paid a visit by some friends."

Noah was sure of the vodka on Danny's breath. He ignored the boy and tried to enter his truck again. Danny slammed the door shut, pressing his back to it and standing face-to-face with Noah.

"I don't want any trouble," Noah said.

Danny laughed, his breath soaked in alcohol and his eyelids heavy, almost closed. "Ya hear that, boys?" he called out to the other teenagers by the car. "The fag doesn't want any trouble!"

Noah looked to his right to see three other boys coming towards them, all burly and lumbering like Danny, all with a heavy, drunk look on their faces. They smiled as they approached, as if they were about to play a game of football with a weaker opposing team.

Noah tried to shove Danny aside to open his door. "Just leave me alone," he said. His heart quickened, his stomach turned sour and hot.

"What's wrong?" Danny asked, nudging his way back in front of Noah's door. "Oh, I get it," he said with a slurred laugh. "You didn't like the little present my boys here gave you, did you?"

Noah looked at the other teenagers again as they stood around him. "Maybe we shoulda thrown a Roman candle through the window," said one of the boys.

"Yeah," another one laughed. "That woulda _really_ scared the shit out of them!"

Noah looked at Danny. He swallowed hard, a lump as big as a rock forming in his throat. "Why are you doing this?" he asked.

Danny smiled and stumbled forward a bit, his eyes almost all the way closed. "Why?" he mimicked, as if the question had an obvious answer. Danny blinked and suddenly he opened his eyelids all the way, the smile on his face wiped away and replaced with a menacing frown.

"Because I hate your fuckin' guts." Danny said. He grabbed Noah by the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer. "And tonight . . . we're gonna kill you."

Noah barely had time to move, could barely even think another thought before Danny swung a fist at him and knocked him right in the jaw, powerful enough to bring Noah to his stomach. Danny kicked him in his side and Noah let out a cry.

"Come on, asshole!" Danny cried. He kicked Noah in the face, causing him to roll on his back. Danny knelt down and grabbed Noah by the hair, forcing his head up from the ground. Blood trickled out of Noah's nose.

"Please . . ." Noah whispered.

Danny smiled again. "When we're done with you," he said, "we're gonna fuck up your little boyfriend back home."

**To be continued**


	12. Darkness

"How long have you know about this?"

Celeste shrugged and stared down at Luke's hand in hers. "A couple of weeks. They've started chemotherapy last week."

"But how have you been able to go in for treatment? As far as we know, you've still been going to work and picking up the girls—"

"I'm doing home chemotherapy right now. I'm taking leave off of work next week and then . . ."

Luke moved his head, forcing Celeste to look at him. "And then are you going to tell your kids?"

Celeste pulled her hand away and raised her eyebrows, shaking her head. "I don't know. Part of me thinks they shouldn't know."

"Celeste, how can they _not_ know?" Luke cried. He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Sooner or later they're going to find out. And what about you? What's gonna happen when you start to lose your hair?"

Celeste stood from her chair and went to the stove where the kettle was boiling. "Not everyone on home chemo loses their hair." She took the kettle off the stove and put in on a hot pad. "I'll just . . .I can ride it out for a while."

Luke stood and moved over to her. "Celeste—"

"I'll be fine, it's in its early stages. Early enough, anyway—"

"Celeste you can't do this alone!" Luke put his hands on her trembling shoulders and turned her around to face him. She had tears in her eyes.

"I know," Celeste said. She lowered her eyes as a tear rolled down her cheek. "I know." Celeste let out a sob and crumpled like a heap of laundry into Luke's chest. He hugged her gently and stroked her head, kissing her hair as she had done to Sarah. Celeste cried in his chest, her body heaving and her fingers gripping his shirt as though she were hanging on for dear life. She pulled away and looked up at Luke, her face streaked with tears.

"You have to promise me you won't tell the girls. You have to promise me you won't tell them yet, not until I'm ready!"

Luke nodded. "Okay," he said. "I promise." He held her close again and rocked her gently in his embrace. He felt Celeste's tears bleed through his shirt and wanted to cry himself, wanted to absorb all of her sadness until she was no longer scared.

Celeste sniffled and pulled away from Luke with a laugh. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping away her tears. "Here I am, a huge mess, and you probably came over here for a different reason." She looked up at her neighbor. "What's up?"

Luke could practically his heart tear in half. He felt guilty for wanting to tell Celeste after everything she had just confessed to him, felt that all of his own problems were a breeze when Celeste was standing face-forward in a tsunami.

He shrugged and pursed his lips to keep the pain from escaping his mouth in a soft sigh. "Oh, it's nothing,"

"What is it?" Celeste said, her face twisted in concern.

Luke managed a laugh and squeezed her shoulders. "It's no big deal. Noah and I had a fight."

"Why? What happened?"

Luke smiled down at Celeste. He was touched by her concern even in her own turbulent state. He looked at his hand on Celeste's shoulder, the one with the gold band and felt his hopes rising ever-so-slowly. Suddenly, everything seemed easier.

"It's nothing we can't bounce back from," he said.

0000000

"Come on!"

Noah gasped as he felt another cinderblock, another semi truck plow into his stomach as Danny kicked him. He lay curled on the pavement on the parking lot, helpless and clutching his gut where everything felt like burning embers.

"Get him on his back!" one of Danny's friends yelled.

Danny kicked him again and Noah rolled over onto his back. The part of his brain that wasn't panicking was telling him that help would come soon, that someone would see the incident taking place and stop everything before Danny could land another blow to his face or a kick to his back or a deadly hit on the head with a hockey stick—

"Hey, man, put that down!" Danny's friend cried.

"Gimme back my fuckin' hockey stick, man!" another said.

Noah looked up with blurry vision to see Danny holding a long blue and red hockey stick in his hand. "Watch and learn, boys," he said. He raised the stick in the air as though he were about to slap an invisible puck away from an opponent.

In that moment, Noah truly felt he was going to die. He thought about Luke and the horrible things they had said to each other, he thought about his lover's face the second he saw Andrew kissing him in the trailer. He wondered how Celeste and the girl's were going to take the news, how their faces might look when Luke told them that he was—

"Aggh!" Noah cried. His head flew to the side as Danny hit him with the stick. Noah felt a searing, white pain spread throughout the back of his head, his entire body tingled for a moment and then buzzed with agony.

"Stop it, man!"

"You're gonna kill him!"

Danny's friends were but faceless sounds to Noah, a pack of blurry figures hovering above him like angels of death. This was it, he could feel it. A heavy darkness began to envelop his vision. Noah felt a faint _thump_ across his mouth as Danny's cloudy face became the only thing in his line of sight. He felt the coppery, warm taste of blood in his mouth as the teenager lifted his pounding head from the pavement by his collar. For a split second, Noah thought he could see tears in Danny's eyes.

Danny raised his fist again and hit Noah square on his side temple. Noah's eyes fluttered closed and the blackness hovering around his eyes draped itself around him like a light switch going off. Now there were no thoughts of getting out, no convoluted dreams or even flashes of Luke's face smiling back at him, perfect and happy.

All Noah could see was black.

**To be continued**


	13. I'm Here

At around eight fifteen, Luke began chopping onions, blinking rapidly to keep his tears from the potency of the vegetable in check. At exactly eight twenty-three he boiled some pasta and sprinkled sea salt into the pot for extra flavor. A dash of oil to separate the noodles, a pinch of cilantro to give the sauce in the next pan a real kick. He drained the water from the noodles and let the sauce simmer over the stove. Luke wiped his hand son the apron tied over his waist and looked at the clock. 8:42.

He adjusted his collar in the bedroom mirror and debated which tie would go with the blue button-down shirt he was wearing. Black it was. He fumbled getting the knot, laughing at his shaking fingers and starting over. He tucked his shirt in and surveyed himself in the mirror, thinking he did alright for a spur-of-the-moment idea.

Luke placed white linen over the dining room table. He set two places and left the food to keep warm in the kitchen, lighting two white candles on opposite ends of the table. Luke blew out the match and looked up at the clock again. 9:07

He sat down to calm his nerves, running lines through his head as to what he would say when Noah walked in the door. _I'm sorry, I love you, please forgive me._ None were especially poetic, but all of them were sincere. He looked down at the wedding band on his finger and smiled.

Luke stood and went to the kitchen to check on the food. He kicked up the phone from its cradle on the wall, his fingers hovering hesitantly over the numbers. What if Noah didn't want to talk to him? What if he checked in to a motel for the night and all his planning was for nothing? Luke slowly set the phone down and exhaled deeply. He jumped when the phone suddenly rang as he still held it in his hand. He picked it up with lightning speed and pressed it to his ear as though letting go would mean he would lose Noah forever.

"Noah?" he asked into the line.

There was a pause.

"Is this Luke Snyder?" a female voice asked.

"This is he. Who's calling?"

"This is Grace with County Medical. We have a Noah Mayer checked in at the ICU."

Luke felt the color drain from his face. He swayed, the world tilting under his feet as though he were standing on an uneven table.

"What happened?" he asked.

Another pause.

"We'll need you to come in right away."

0000000

_One-one thousand . . . two-one thousand . . ._

Luke swallowed hard and kept counting to keep his jackhammering heart from leaping out of his throat. He walked quickly down the halls of the hospital, loosening his tie as he went, his mind nothing but a white blur of horrific images and unfounded assumptions.

_Three-one thousand . . . four-one thousand . . ._

Noah was hurt. Noah was in danger and Luke hadn't been there to help him. "There was a confrontation," the receptionist had said. What _kind_ of confrontation? How bad was Noah hurt? A confrontation made it sound like some guy was hassling Noah for change on the street for Christ's sake, so why was he in the intensive care unit?

_Five-one thousand . . . six-one thousand . . ._

The walls on either side of Luke became a rush of white as he started to jog. He didn't see anything else other than the receptionist's desk at the end, couldn't hear anything but the pounding of his blood in his ears.

_Please, God . . . seven-one thousand . . ._

Luke reached the receptionist's desk as a runner might reach the finish line. He leaned over eagerly, his hands pressed on the surface of the desk. The blonde receptionist looked up from her computer.

"Can I help you?" she said.

"My name is Luke Snyder, I'm here to see Noah Mayer."

"Okay, once second," the woman said. Her press-on nails clacked at the keyboard, and her leisurely pace made Luke want to reach over and shake her. He was practically jumping out of his skin.

"What is your relation to the patient?" she asked.

"Family," Luke said without a moment's hesitation.

"And how are you related to the patient?"

"Where is he?!" Luke cried. "What happened to him?"

The receptionist's eyes went wide and she picked up the phone. "One moment, please, I'll get the doctor." She looked up at him again as he hovered over her. "Please have a seat."

Luke's mouth flew open. This felt like a nightmare, like somebody was playing a joke on him or trying to teach him a cruel lesson. He staggered backwards to the waiting area and fell back on a chair. Luke put his head between his knees and covered his face in his hands.

_Please, God, please . . ._

"Luke Snyder?"

Luke looked up and saw a silver-haired doctor standing over him. He shot to his feet. "Yeah, that's me," he said.

The doctor held out his hand. "My name is Dr. Schwartz, I'm Noah's—"

"Where is he?" Luke demanded. "What happened to him?"

The doctor sighed. "Maybe you should sit down." He offered a chair to Luke and they sat down together. "Noah had an encounter with some teenagers outside of a bar," the doctor said slowly. "They beat him up pretty badly. A few witnesses came over and stopped them, then called the police. The boys are in custody right now."

"What about Noah? How bad is he hurt?"

The doctor paused as though he were searching for the words that would hurt him the less. "He's suffered extensive damage to the abdomen and head. He's had some internal bleeding, but we've managed to stop it in time. He's got some cuts and bruises and ri—"

Luke held out his hands. "You said head damage, what does that mean?"

The doctor sighed again, never taking his eyes away from Luke. "He was unconscious when he came in," Dr, Schwartz continued. "We took a CAT scan and he has what we call a 'grade three' concussion. Now, that's not life-threatening, but he may be in a coma for the next twenty-four hours."

Luke sat back in his chair and put is hands over his face. "Oh, Jesus."

"We'll be monitoring him constantly. He's not out of the woods yet, but he had a lucky escape compared to some."

"Can I see him?" Luke asked, taking his hands away from his face.

The doctor stood. "Of course, follow me."

He led Luke down a long hallway and turned the corner. They stopped in front of room 106 and the doctor surprised Luke by placing his hand on his shoulder. "Take all the time you need," he said.

Luke waited until the doctor left and slowly opened the door, as if going too fast would make Noah's condition worse. He slid through the door and closed it softly, staring at the body propped up slightly on the hospital bed. The florescent light of the room cast shadows on Noah's face, and even though Luke took that into consideration, he couldn't help but let out a small cry when he saw Noah's face, bruised and swollen on the bed.

Luke went to Noah's side and sat down on the chair next to the bed. He took Noah's hand in his and squeezed it gently. He looked at his boyfriend's face and tried to say something positive, tried to speak and let Noah know that he was there and eager to see him get better. But the longer Luke stared at Noah's bruised face, an awful cut on his lip and a breathing tube under his nose, the more Luke's heart was swallowed in pain. He couldn't help the tears welling in his eyes, couldn't stop a trembling feeling of fear and sadness come over him.

He released Noah's hand and bolted from his chair, walking to the far corner of the room with a hand over his mouth and tears streaming down his face.

"Oh, God!" he cried. He began to sob in short, powerful gasps, the emotion of it all drowning him in wave after wave of hurt. He wiped his eyes and pounded on the wall with his fist, running a hand through his hair and feeling the scorching heat of his skin as he did. He wanted to kill whoever did this to Noah, he wanted to find them and personally make sure they felt as much pain as Noah had suffered through.

Luke sucked in a breath and unclenched his tight fists. He turned around and looked at his boyfriend on the bed, his eyes peaceful and quiet, oblivious to Luke's presence. He moved over to Noah's side and took his hand again, kissing his knuckle and pressing it to his forehead.

"I'm here," he said.

He stood and leaned over his boyfriend, hovering a palm over Noah's damaged face before placing his engagement hand over Noah's heart. He kissed Noah's neck and put his face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his lover's scent as though breathing health back into him.

"I'm here."

**To be continued**


	14. Hey There, Handsome

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait, midterms were crazy. But now that it's Spring Break, expect more chapters. Thanks again to all my readers, and thanks for sticking with me!**�

* * *

Luke sat up when he heard someone tapping on the hospital room door. He had been lying with his head across Noah's chest, holding his hand brushing his thumb over his knuckle as though rubbing his pain away. He looked at his sleeping boyfriend, then at the door.

"Come in," he called, releasing Noah's hand.

Luke stood as Officer Grady stepped into the room. "Mr. Snyder," the man said with a nod.

Luke moved over to him. "Officer Grady," he said, surprised.

"Would you follow me out into the hallway, please?" the officer asked. "I have some information about Noah's attackers."

Luke trailed behind the officer and gave Noah one last look before stepping out into the hall and closing the door.

"First, I'd like to say how sorry I am," Officer Grady said, "I've seen these kinds of things happen before, and I know it must be awful right now. Your partner is a good person, this shouldn't have happened—"

"What about his attackers?" Luke asked. He blinked heavily, his body weary from everything that was going on. As much as he appreciated what the officer was telling him, he wasn't in the mood for sympathy.

"Of course." Officer Grady cleared his throat. "It turns out your suspicions of George Samson and his son were true. Mr. Samson had nothing to do with it, but his son Danny and a few of his friends confessed to throwing the brick through your window the other day."

Luke shifted his weight to his other leg and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the officer to finish.

"Danny and his buddies were the ones who attacked Noah. The police brought them in after witnesses called the police and they confessed to everything."

Luke couldn't hear what the officer was telling him. He looked past the man and felt a burning, aching feeling grow in his gut and travel throughout his body. He always thought that old cliché of a person seeing red when they were angry was just that—a cliché. But now that he knew Danny was the one who hurt Noah, now that he knew Noah's source of pain, all he could see were red spots dancing in front of his eyes as his ears began to burn.

"Mr. Snyder?" Officer Grady asked, moving his head to catch Luke's eye. "Did you hear what I just said?"

Luke blinked at looked at the officer. "What?"

"I said, Danny's being charged with a hate crime. And since he's eighteen, he'll also be charged as an adult. There will still be a trial, but since we have his confession in writing, you can expect a speedy process." Officer Grady narrowed his eyebrows. "Are you alright, Mr. Snyder?"

"Where is he?" Luke asked.

The officer pursed his lips. "He's being held in a cell at the station until the trial. His father's with him, but the boy's been denied bail."

Luke perked and looked at the officer again. "He's there right now?"

"Mr. Snyder, maybe you should—"

"Can I see him?"

Officer Grady shook his head. "Mr. Snyder, I think it would be best if you stayed with—"

"Please." Luke looked at him with all the desperation he had. The red spots had stopped popping in front of his face and the anger inside of him cooled, but only a little. "Please, I just . . . I can't explain why, but I've gotta—"

Officer Grady stood tall, his body in police mode. "Mr. Snyder," he said sternly, "I know what you're thinking. Maybe all you want is a look at the kid, but from my experience, one look can cause you to snap. The best advice I can give you right now is to stay with Noah and be there when he wakes up. Let the law handle what's left of the situation." Officer Grady put his hand on Luke's shoulder and patted him gently. "Try to get some rest."

The officer turned away and walked down the hall. Luke watched him go and felt his hands tremble in what was probably rage, probably anguish, probably all of these things combined as he thought about Noah's condition. He turned and opened the door to the room, half-hoping Noah was awake in his bed. His heart sunk when he saw his boyfriend still unconscious, still hooked to tubes and wires and painted with cuts and bruises on his face.

Luke sat down on the chair next to the bed and took Noah's hand again. He looked up at the clock on the wall. 11:30pm. Luke looked at his boyfriend and smiled, inching closer to him on the chair.

"Hey," he whispered, "Hey in there."

Noah lay still.

Luke looked down at his boyfriend's clean knuckle and rubbed his thumb once more over the notches. "You know, if you don't get any better real soon, I'm gonna have to kick your butt for making me wait so long to see you."

Luke lowered his head and sniffled, hiding his tears from his unconscious boyfriend as though Noah could see him. He raised his head again. "I am _so_ sorry for everything. I'm sorry for the things I said, I'm sorry for thinking you and Andrew were . . ." Luke trailed off and wiped a tear away with the back of his hand. He smiled at Noah.

"You keep asking me what I'm writing about," Luke said. He looked down again at his boyfriend's knuckle. "I'm writing about you." He paused and stroked the smooth, hairless spot of the back of Noah's hand. "It's always you, Noah . . . you're the hero of my story. And I can't . . ." Luke sniffled again. "I can't imagine doing anything without you."

Luke looked at his boyfriend, his eyes glistening with tears. He leaned over and laid his head on Noah's chest again, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat. "I love you," he said. "I've always loved you, and now I'm positive I always will. So if you don't get better soon, I'll just have to adopt those twelve kids you want by myself and let you miss all the fun—"

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

Luke gasped and bolted upright as Noah's chest vibrated with the words. He looked at his boyfriend and Noah's eyes were open, his sapphire stones visible through the tiny slights of his heavy eyelids. A small smile curled on the corner of Noah's lip.

"Hey there, handsome," Noah said.

Luke put a hand to his mouth and let out a sob. He closed his eyes as more tears came to the surface and shook his head slightly. He opened his eyes again and saw that it wasn't a hallucination, that Noah really _was_ awake, and smiling to boot. Luke laughed and leaned over Noah's body, pressing himself close to him and kissing his face.

"Oh my God," he sighed, "Oh my God." He kissed Noah's lips and his boyfriend slowly raised his hand.

"Easy, easy," Noah said.

"Sorry," Luke breathed onto his lips. He stroked his boyfriend's face and gently touched his forehead to Noah's. "I thought . . . I thought you were—"

"Me too," Noah said.

Luke pulled away and hovered over his boyfriend, smiling. "You really scared the hell out of me," he said with a laugh.

Noah's weak, crooked smile faded and he looked up at the ceiling, furrowing his eyebrows. "Where am I?" he asked.

Luke stroked his cheek. "You're in the hospital," he said in nearly a whisper.

Noah swallowed hard and tried to shift in place, wincing at the effort. "My head . . ." he looked at Luke. "What happened to me?"

Luke bit his bottom lip and looked his boyfriend over, debating what to say. "Doesn't matter right now," he said. He brushed his thumb over the cut on Noah's lip. "You're alright now, and I'm here." He leaned over and kissed Noah's neck. 

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into his boyfriend's ear.

**To be continued**


	15. Visitors

"Here you go, Mr. Mayer." The young, pretty nurse set a tray of hospital food on Noah's bed table.

"Thank you," he said, grinning up at her.

A beam of sunlight radiated through the window, the curtains drawn to reveal a blue-skied morning. Luke smiled at his boyfriend from his chair and laced his fingers together between his knees.

"Is he your brother?" The nurse asked Luke, motioning her head towards Noah.

"No," he glanced at Noah and raised his left hand to the nurse. "He's my fiancé."

The nurse grinned and raised an eyebrow, shooting Noah a coy look. "Aren't you the lucky one?" she asked Luke.

He nodded and smiled at his boyfriend. "I know."

The nurse left, closing the door behind her. Luke picked up the plastic spoon next to Noah's bowl of oatmeal and dug it into the sloppy mess. "Okay," he said, raising the spoon of gray, mushy lumps, "here comes the choo-choo—"

Noah laughed and pushed the spoon away from his face. "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself."

Luke shook his head and scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal. "Yeah, well, get used to it," he said, "because when we get home, you better believe I'm gonna keep you busy planning our commitment ceremony."

Luke raised the spoon again but Noah stopped him, placing his hand on top of his and lowering the oatmeal. "You're wearing the ring," he said.

Luke looked at him and smiled. "Of course I am. You asked me to marry you, didn't you?"

Noah pursed his lips and laid his head back on the pillow. "I just wish I could have given you the ring in a different way."

Luke laughed. "You mean like hiding it in the dessert at a restaurant?"

"Luke—"

"Or going to a sporting event and having everyone stare at us on one of those big screens? Not that we'd go to a sporting event anytime soon . . ."

"Luke."

Luke looked up at Noah, stunned by his serious tone. Noah put his hand in Luke's and squeezed it gently. "After everything that's happened," he said. "After everything I put you through with Andrew—"

"Stop," Luke said, shaking his head.

"I wanted everything to be perfect—the proposal, the ring, the timing. I wanted you to remember it for the rest of your life—"

"_Stop_ it, Noah!" Luke sighed and lowered his voice. "It doesn't matter," he said after a pause. "You can plan everything down to a T and it wouldn't be as perfect as it is right now." Luke reached out and placed his engagement hand on the side of Noah's face, brushing his thumb over the cut above Noah's brow. "I wish to God this never would have happened to you, and yeah—it sucked when we were fighting. But we're here now. And no matter what, I'll _always_ remember how much you love me."

Noah smiled, tears glistening in his eyes. He took Luke's hand as it rested on his face and kissed it, brushing his lips over the warm metal of the ring on his finger.

"Now then," Luke said, straightening up and taking his hand back. "Let's have some breakfast." He raised the spoon again but stopped when he heard a knock on the door. Luke turned his head to see who was coming in.

The nurse poked her head in the door. "Excuse me, Mr. Mayer. You have a visitor." The nurse opened the door wider and Celeste came in, carrying a duffle bag and a concerned look on her face. She smiled when she saw Noah in bed and Luke stood to greet her.

"Hey, you," he said, giving her a hug.

"Oh, God, I'm so glad you called," Celeste said. She looked at Noah and set the bag down. "There's my guy," she said, moving over to him and giving him a hug as he lay in bed. "You look like a million bucks."

Noah laughed. "I was wondering when you'd get here," he said.

Celeste stood between Luke and the bed. "I had to drop the girls off at school. I haven't told them anything yet, I didn't want them to worry." She looked at Luke and he gave her a small grin, one that seemed to ask about the other predicament they were in involving her and her illness. "I, uh, I brought some of the things you asked for." Celeste bent over and picked up the duffle bag she had brought in. "Some magazines, snacks, a few changes of clothes—"

"Good, because this guy over here could use a shower," Noah said, motioning towards Luke.

"Look who's talking, Mr. Hospital Gown!" Luke laughed.

"Oh, way to kick me while I'm down!"

Luke smiled at his boyfriend and turned to Celeste. "Any sign of _him_ next door?" he asked, referring to George Samson.

Celeste shook her head. "No. He's probably still with Danny."

Luke nodded slowly.

Celeste cleared her throat and smiled at Noah. "You and I need to have a chat about the wedding." She pointed to him in mock seriousness. "Luke's ring tells me you're wanting a big thing."

Luke jutted his thumb over his shoulder to the door. "I'll leave you two alone for a second. I'm gonna see if I can find anyone to hose me down." He winked at Noah and exited the room. As the door closed, he leaned back on the other side, placing a hand over his eyes and letting out a deep breath.

Luke walked down the hall, rubbing his aching neck from sleeping hunched over all night on Noah's bedside. He contemplated getting a cup of coffee from the waiting room and turned the corner to the nurse's station.

Luke stopped suddenly and felt his heart drop to his knees. He blinked hard and looked again at the man standing over the nurse's counter to make sure he was real. Time seemed to slow down as the man turned and saw Luke, his eyes meeting his as though he were looking at the Angel of Death. Luke counted the milliseconds as their eyes remained locked on each other, the world moving around them at a snails pace. Red dots danced in front of Luke's eyes again, and he willed the world to move again as he took another step forward.

The man at the nurse's station didn't budge.

Another step.

Still no movement.

Another.

George Samson remained rooted to his spot.

Now the world moved at a pace not even Luke could keep up with. Colors blended together as he moved faster and faster to where the man stood, and still George didn't flinch, didn't try to look the other way or turn in the opposite direction. In fact, the closer Luke got to him, the more George seemed to open up. He stepped away from the desk and faced Luke like a man anticipating the firing squad with all the certainty in the world, but this sort of acceptance didn't stop Luke from raising his fist in the air and landing a right hook on George's face. His neighbor fell back and held the spot where Luke hit him.

"Doctor!" A nurse cried

"Somebody hold him!"

"Call an attendant!"

Luke didn't fight back as two or maybe three men held him back. He simply looked at George and reveled at the pain in the man's eyes—not pain from the hit, he realized, but pain from him having to see Luke at all.

"Let go of me!" Luke cried, now struggling to get free. That pain in George's eyes was addicting, made Luke want to hit him again and let him taste blood the way Noah had.

"It's okay!" George cried, holding out a hand as an orderly helped him on the floor. "Let him go, it's fine."

"Sir, you have to calm down!" A man holding Luke back said.

"Officer!"

Luke stumbled to his knees as a man in blue held him down. He found himself face-first on the tile as the officer pining him down put his hands behind his back and placed cuffs over his wrists.

"Don't do that!" George Samson cried, standing to his feet.

"Sir, he might attack you again!" the policeman said to George.

"You almost killed him!" Luke screamed as the officer pulled him to his knees again. He looked at his neighbor square in the eye—all of his pain, all of his hatred, all of his love for Noah pouring out like a gushing waterfall. "Your son almost killed him!"

The officer pulled Luke to his feet and began leading him the opposite way down the hall. Luke squirmed to look back at George, his wrists held back by the officer's handcuffs.

"Noah almost _died_ because of your son!"

**To be continued**


	16. Forgiveness

**A/N: The next chapter will probably be the last one of this little saga, and it'll probably be shorter. Just a heads up!**

* * *

Luke sat in a bolted-down chair in the hallway of the nurse's station. He pulled at the handcuff attaching his wrist to the chair and stared ahead at the wall as if looking at it hard enough would make it see-through. He couldn't tell what he was feeling at the moment—he was angry, but he didn't feel the need to hurt anyone. He was sad, but not enough to cry. A small part of him was even happy that he was where he was, because it meant he hit George Samson hard enough to worry a few people, and that thought . . . well, that thought both terrified and delighted him.

Luke continued to look ahead even as Officer Grady stood before him, ignoring the police officer as he put his arms over his chest.

"We talked about this, Luke—"

"What is he even_doing_ here?" Luke asked, finally looking up at the policeman.

"Luke, unless Noah says otherwise, we can't just ban him from the hospital. He wasn't involved in any of the attacks, he's an innocent in this—"

"_Innocent_?" Luke cried. His blood boiled at the word. "His _son_, his bigoted, no-good son nearly killed Noah, and George is an innocent in all of this?" 

"George Samson hasn't committed any crimes. You may not like it, Luke, but unless he tries to pull something, he has every right to be here as you." Officer Grady knelt down to Luke's eye level. "And unless you realize that, you're gonna have to tell Noah that you're handcuffed to this chair."

Luke looked away from the officer and stared at the wall again. Officer Grady sighed. "Fine," he said. "I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

Luke ignored him as he walked away.

"Oh my God!" A voice cried. Luke looked down the hall and saw Celeste coming towards him. "What did you do?" she asked.

"I punched George Samson right in his face."

Celeste sat down in the adjoining chair next to Luke. "Here's here?" she asked.

Luke nodded and looked at his old friend, the wall. "Yup."

Celeste sat back and raised her eyebrows. "I don't blame you for socking him. What's he doing here?"

Luke shrugged. "I don't know." He looked at Celeste. "Where's Noah?"

"He's getting some tests done with his doctor. I told him you went out for coffee." She smiled at Luke and he grinned slyly. Celeste's smile faded and she sighed. "You know George isn't the one who did any of this," she said.

Luke's face dropped and he looked away from her. For a moment he thought he could get away with being blindly angry, he thought he could charm his way out of being judged even a little for what he did. But Celeste's tone, one that made Luke feel like a child picking fights on the playground, made him tense up and made his eyes fill with tears.

"I wasn't there," he whispered.

Celeste leaned closer. "What?"

"I wasn't there to help him!" Luke said, tears choking his raised voice. "Noah was in trouble, Noah was getting hurt and I wasn't there to stop it! He needed me and I wasn't there!"

"Luke, stop it!" Celeste said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "There's no way you could have known."

"I could have stopped him!" Luke cried. "I could have stopped Noah from leaving the house, I should have apologized right then and there—"

"But you didn't, Luke!" Celeste yelled. "What's happened, happened, and blaming George isn't going to make Noah better! I know what you must be feeling right now, but you can't change the past!" She took Luke's face in her hands and forced him to look at her. "Noah doesn't think any less of you because of it."

Luke squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from springing out and nodded his head. "I know," he said. He sniffled at looked at Celeste with all the seriousness in the world. "I'm not going to apologize to him."

Celeste grinned half-heartedly. "I don't expect you to." She pushed the hair away from Luke's eyes and kissed his forehead. "I'm going to see how Noah's doing," she said. "I expect you to be in that room when he comes back from his tests."

Luke nodded and watched her as she walked away. He slumped in the chair and pulled on the handcuff again.

"Luke?"

Luke looked up at the sound of Officer Grady's voice and frowned when he saw the policeman standing with George Samson. His heart sped and his blood turned to battery acid but the red spots in front of his eyes didn't appear.

"Mr. Samson would like to talk to you for a moment," Officer Grady said.

Luke looked at the wall again and shrugged. "It's a free country." He watched out of the corner of his eye as George stood before him, leaning against the wall opposite of him. Officer Grady stood close by. An aching silence between the men clogged the air.

"How's Noa—"

"_Don't_!" Luke cried, looking at George. He lowered his voice. "Don't . . . use his name, please."

George blinked rapidly at the harshness of Luke's tone and rubbed the area where the man had hit him. "Okay," the man said. He looked around as if someone could help him think of what to say and sighed deeply. "You had every right to hit me," he said.

"Well, I'm glad we both feel that way," Luke said, staring past the man as though he couldn't care less in the world.

More silence.

"My boy . . ." George said suddenly. "Danny. He's in a lot of trouble right now."

"Ya think?" Luke asked. He had to grind his teeth to keep the burning feeling of hatred from rising.

"He's facing a lot of jail time right now," George continued. "Could be more than a lot, I don't know. He's ruined his future."

"Is this supposed to make me feel sorry for either of you?" Luke snapped.

"No," George said calmly. "I love my boy, but he's getting what he deserves."

This caused Luke to look at the man. "Really?"

George held out a hand. "He broke the law. There ain't no excuse. I only wish . . ." George paused and lowered his head. Luke thought for a split second her could see a glisten of a tear in his eye. "I only wish I had done better, you know? I only wish I had raised him right."

Luke pursed his lips and looked away from the man, a man who now seemed sad and desperate and downright pitiful to Luke.

"I know what my boy did was wrong," George said. "But I just wanted to . . . I just wanted to say—" The man stopped and put the back of his hand under his nose. Now Luke knew for sure his neighbor was crying. George took a deep breath and looked at Luke, his face exposed for his neighbor to see his pain and tears. "I am truly sorry for what I have done to you and yours. I know you can't even begin to forgive Danny, but I hope you can forgive me. I hope you can at least know how sorry I am."

Luke looked at his neighbor, watching as a tiny tear traveled down the man's face and stop at the edge of his lip. He looked at Officer Grady and all the policeman could do was stare at Luke, no bias towards anyone or indication of how Luke should respond.

Luke lowered his head. He sighed and sat up straight. "I can forgive you, George. I can look past that it wasn't you who did it. Hell, eventually, I'm sure I can even shake your hand." He paused, hoping to drive his point home. "But I'm not the one you should be asking for forgiveness. And right now, the one who you _should_ be asking probably can't stand the thought of you."

George nodded slowly. "I know." The man wiped his face and blew out a quick breath. "This might be asking too much, but . . . do you think he could ever forgive me?"

Luke shrugged. "I don't know. That's his call to make."

George stood from where he leaned on the wall. He put his hands in his pocket sheepishly, an odd-look gesture from such a bulky-looking ex-jock, and smiled weakly at Luke. "I won't bother you anymore. You don't have to tell No—you don't have to tell _him_ I came by. I just . . . needed you to know."

The man waited, possibly anticipating Luke's next move, but when his neighbor didn't say anything, he nodded his head. "Good-bye, Luke."

Luke blinked and slowly tipped his head towards the man, an indication that things weren't 100 okay, but well enough as it was. George turned and walked down the hall, and Luke watched until the man was out of sight.

Officer Grady moved from his spot and released Luke from his handcuffs. "I'm sure someone's waiting for you in the next room," he said. 

Luke stood and rubbed his wrists. "Thanks." He turned and began walking down the hall.

"Luke!" Officer Grady called out. Luke turned. "You're a good man," the policeman said.

Luke nodded and offered the officer a small smile. He turned and walked again, wondering a million things but never following a single thought all the way through. He tapped on Noah hospital room door and smiled as he entered. Noah instantly brightened when he saw his boyfriend, and Celeste turned in her seat and gave him a curious look.

"How're you doing?" Luke asked, moving over to the other side of Noah's bed.

"I'm fit to live another day," he said. "I thought you were getting coffee?" he asked.

Luke looked at Celeste. She pressed her lips in a thin line and waited for him to answer. Luke turned back to Noah and offered him a smile. "I deiced not to get any," he said. He leaned over and planted a moist, lingering kiss on his boyfriend's forehead, stroking Noah's head gently. He pulled away and Noah looked at him, slightly amused.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Luke smiled. "It will be."

**To be continued.**


	17. Love

TWO MONTHS LATER

Luke straightened his tie in the mirror and brushed the front of his gray suit. No wrinkles, no spot . . . but that damn tie kept irritating him. At first the knot was too small, then it was too big, then it was crooked—

Luke untied the white knot with an uneasy laugh and trembling fingers. "Every time," he mumbled. A light knock rapped on the door. "Come in," he called.

Celeste entered the office room, wearing a lavender dress and a scarf tied around her blonde hair. "Hey, handsome," she said. She snuck in and closed the door as if she were meeting Luke in a secret rendezvous spot instead of a courthouse.

Luke turned and smiled at her. "You look great," he said.

Celeste smiled and touched the scarf on her head. "Yeah," she said, "finally found a wig that would fit. The other ones were so scratchy and they kept slipping . . ."

Luke's smile faded as he watched the glint in Celeste's eye dim, her smile intact but her shoulders heavy with a burden they both didn't want to think about. "Here," she said, moving to Luke. "Let me help you with that." She turned him around and had him face the full-length mirror, draping her arms over his shoulders to help with his tie.

"Is the judge here yet?" he asked.

"Just arrived."

"The flower girl?"

"Mary's practicing right now, keeps placing the pedals on the ground like they're diamonds."

"What about the ring-bearer?" Luke asked.

Celeste straightened Luke's knotted tie and turned him around to face her. "Everything's fine," she said. "It's all going according to plan." She smiled widely and playfully tapped his cheek. "Nervous, are we?"

Luke smiled and rolled his eyes. He touched the scarf on Celeste's head. "How are you doing?"

Celeste shrugged and brushed Luke's shoulders to smooth the wrinkles. "I'm good," she said with an optimism Luke could believe. "I've got my strength up these days, I've got my girls . . . it'll be hard with you and Noah in Paris for a whole two weeks—"

"If you need anything, anything at all, we're a call away—"

Celeste tugged on his jacket and laughed. "Stop that. I can survive cancer for two weeks without you guys. Might be good to get away from your fretting."

Luke stroked the scarf on her head and smiled at her determination. He pulled her in for a hug and embraced her carefully, as though squeezing too tight might spread the disease inside of her and cause her to break.

Celeste pulled away when she heard a knock at the door and wiped away a stray tear. "Come in," she called. Noah entered with his tuxedo jacket unbuttoned and his tie draped over his shoulder. "I better go check on the girls," Celeste said. She turned and touched Noah's shoulder before leaving the room. "No eloping while I'm gone, you two."

Noah watched her leave and turned to Luke as the door closed. He stared at him for a moment, lost in his fiancés handsomeness. "You look great," Noah said.

Luke smiled. "Hey, don't you know it's bad luck for the groom to see the—" Luke stopped and thought about the old custom. "You know what? Never mind."

Noah moved closer and took his tie off his shoulder. "I figure I'd take my chances." He held his cream tie out to Luke. "I needed someone to help me with this, and I remembered that you're the best."

Luke grinned widely and stared at the tie for a moment. He took it from Noah's fingers and put it under Noah's collar, evening the length and diligently working on the knot. "What does this remind you of?" Luke asked, glancing at Noah briefly.

"Our first kiss?"

Luke chuckled and shook his head. "Seems like a lifetime ago."

"I remember it like it was yesterday," Noah said, watching Luke's eyes as he carefully worked with the tie. "I couldn't stop staring at you, it was like I was hypnotized."

"Yeah, you were pretty high-strung in those days," Luke said, slipping the front flap of the tie through the hole and pulling it down.

"I hadn't been that close to you since that night we went swimming," Noah went on, staring at Luke. "Just watching you work, helping me to get ready—it all kind of clicked in that moment. Everything I had been feeling for you but tried to deny sort of boiled to the surface."

Luke tightened Noah's knot and pulled it up to finish. He finally looked his boyfriend in the eye and thought he would drown in the blue color of his iris.

"I knew I loved you in that moment," Noah said.

Luke blinked heavily to keep from falling over, the outpouring of love from Noah's eyes surrounded him like warm water. He put his hand on Noah's cheek and brushed his thumb over the scar on his lip that had long since healed from his attack. Luke leaned in for a kiss and Noah met his mouth with his. He kissed Luke tenderly, brushing his tongue gently over his bottom lip. He moved away and rubbed his nose against Luke's. Luke smiled and touched his forehead to Noah's.

"Who needs a ceremony after all of that?"

Noah laughed. "You'd have one disappointed flower girl ready to chuck a handful of rose pedals in your face if you were to call all of this off."

Luke leaned back from Noah's forehead and shook his head. "I'd never call this off."

Noah smiled. "Good," he said, leaning closer. "Because I've been waiting for this day since I met you." He planted another quick kiss on Luke's lips and brushed his finger over the cleft in his fiancés chin. "I better get out there," Noah said, motioning his head towards the door.

Luke nodded. "I'll be out in a second." He smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. "I'm gonna check my horoscope before I take the plunge." He turned and picked up the paper on the desk beside him.

"Superstitious?" Noah asked from the door.

"No, curious," Luke said, flipping to the Lifestyles section. "But I'll be sure to take it with a grain of salt."

"I'll be out here waiting when you're done," Noah said, opening the door and glancing over his shoulder to Luke.

"I know you will," Luke said. He gave Noah a smile, one that would probably be the last as his boyfriend before the commitment ceremony, and Noah returned the gesture in a sort of unspoken agreement. Luke waited until Noah closed the door to begin reading his horoscope.

"Five-star day," he said to himself. He closed the section of the paper. "That's all I needed to know. He set it on the desk with the pile of other appendixes and stopped when he saw a column in the OpEd section. He picked it up saw George Samson's name on the skinny, far-left column entitled "On the Fence: Thoughts on Both Sides." For a moment, Luke thought about chucking the paper away and pretending he hadn't seen it, but he could help as his eyes began to scan the column until he was reading it to see what the man had to say.

"As this is my last column at the _Tribune_ before I move to Sacramento's own _Star_ _Herald_, I'll try to be as thoughtful as I can for my faithful readers who might miss me when I'm gone," the article began. "But since I have no flair for poignancy, I'm probably going to come off as a regular schlub in which nearly half of you reading might disagree with, as is to be expected in the OpEd section."

Luke read with skepticism, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

"In the past," the article continued, "my articles have been geared at general annoyances I've found within the status quo—a kind of Tip of the Hat/Wag of the Finger of my own personal preferences. Some have agreed with me passionately, other have disagreed with the same amount of vitality. In the end, the issues I have addressed have been just that—addressed but not dealt with. I wanted to believe for so long that I was championing for a cause I thought of as important, that by bringing up these issues I was crusading for a better world."

Luke flipped the page to continue reading, now fully engrossed in the man's words.

"No doubt many have felt this way—give a man the smallest amount of power and he'll want to rebuild Rome. But I never realized the ramifications some of my musings may have had. It is not in the interest of an opinion writer to satisfy all ends of the spectrum, but I now realize that by not respecting them in the way I should have, I've alienated so many others with my words."

_Luke took Noah's hand and grasped it tightly as the judge led the civil ceremony._

"Though I started with the best of intentions, I realize that in my wake, I may have caused others pain."

_As the judge spoke, Luke looked over Noah's shoulder and saw a single tear fall down Celeste's cheek, her smile incandescently happy._

"I failed to remember that we are not all perfect, that simply pointing out what I thought were flaws in society do nothing to help others—and may, in fact, only hurt them."

_Noah picked up the ring on the small silk pillow Sarah was holding and slipped it on Luke's finger._

"While they say that opinions are like aholes (everyone's got one), I now know that mine are no more valid than the average Joe walking down the street. They're just articulated a little better."

_Luke put the ring on Noah's finger with a trembling hand and smiled at his partner._

"At the risk of making my life's work sound meaningless, I only wish to point out that my opinions are to be taken with the issue looked at from both sides."

_The two grooms held hands as the judge finished saying his words, two people celebrating love and life and that moment in time._

"There is not always one enemy to be ousted, only an experience we have yet to understand."

_The sun broke through the clouds from the window outside and bathed the courtroom in light as Luke and Noah kissed. Celeste and her children clapped and the kindly young judge looked on approvingly._

"And so I conclude my last article with a look at both sides, a neutral mindset the world can agree on—we are all born without judgment to our fellow man. It is only through opinions and knee-jerk prejudices that breed hurt and hatefulness. I have used my opinions in the past to try and make a point for something I personally believe in. Sometimes it has been for betterment, other times it has been solely for the advancement of my own ideas at the expense of other people."

_Luke signed his name under Noah's on the domestic partnership license. Noah put his hand over Luke's and the two men smiled at one another._

"So I end now with only one remaining thought after nearly six years of syndication: has it made my life, personally, any better? The answer is no, but it is a lesson I am grateful to have taken the hard road to learn."

0000000

At the airport terminal, Luke and Noah sat together and waited to board their plane to New York where they would take a connecting flight to Paris. Noah thumbed through an English/French dictionary as Luke sat slumped down in his chair, staring out at the plate glass window to their plane.

"Did I tell you I finished the book I was writing?" Luke asked, keeping his eyes on the nose of the plane.

"You did?" Noah said, glancing down at Luke's head. "What's it about?"

"It's about us," he said. "It's about love."

Noah smiled and looked in his book again. "Isn't that what it always boils down to? Love?"

Luke smiled slowly and rested his head on Noah's shoulder. He took his partner's hand in his and rubbed his thumb over Noah's wedding band.

"Yeah."

**END.**

**A/N: That's all for this story, folks! Thanks for keeping up with it, it was a blast to write! I'll probably write more Noah/Luke fanfiction in the future, and there will most likely be a sequel to this story, but I don't know when I'll get around to it. Thanks again for your support!**


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